


The Dragonfly Effect

by JeanZedlav



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Minor or Background Pairings, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2018, Pairings Subject To Change, see chapter notes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-07 06:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16403549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanZedlav/pseuds/JeanZedlav
Summary: Lord Mace Tyrell has always wanted his daughter to be queen, but he faces one major obstacle to that goal: Sansa Stark.I changed one detail in the books, and made Mace Tyrell a bit more proactive. Everything else? That's the dragonfly effect.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We start in 302 AC, with the characters of an age to match. Some things have changed due to this age up (such as Robb's betrothal), but overall the timeline of the books has merely been moved forward.
> 
> Currently no archive warnings apply. If that changes I will include a note at the beginning of the chapter. Minor pairings aren't listed in the tags, but when non-canon relationships show up I'll add them to the beginning of the chapter where they're introduced. Listed main characters are those with a POV.

2/4/302

Today was a good day for Willas. He had spent the morning with the newborn pups whelped by one of Highgarden’s best bitches, and, although they were still too small to truely tell, several promised to be excellant dogs in their own right. Afterward he had joined Garlan for lunch, and insisted that they start a fox hunt. He knew Garlan was missing his pregnant wife’s company on such hunts, and although he could no longer join boar hunts, and rarely joined fox hunts, as they were usually at the expense of his leg, he wanted to offer his brother a bit of happiness. Lady Leonette’s pregnancy was still in the early stages, but the maester had insisted she forgo ridign and other excercise. Today must be a very good day, though, because he was still able to walk with only a cane when his father sent for him late in the evening.

Lord Mace Tyrell’s solar was in one of the highest towers of Highgarden, windows opening northwest to overlook the Mander. On clear days the mountains of the Westerlands could be seen on the horizon, and miles of the Roseroad and Ocean Road could be seen stretching into the distance. Not for the first time was Willas glad that his family has installed an elevator in the tower so that he would not need to walk up the many flights of stairs. Inside the solar a massive desk was arranged along the eastern wall, where Lord Tyrell sat, looking over a scroll in front of him, Maester Lomys at his side.

As Willas opened the door his father looked up, setting the scroll aside. “Ah, Willas, there you are. Come in, come in!” Mace hurried around the desk to adjust one of the chairs for him. “Here, sit!”

“Thank you,” Willas settled in the chair without protest. He had long since learned that his father would insist on treating him as though he was fragile, no matter how much he improved or how he felt on that particular day. Mace hovered for a moment, waited for him to rest his cane against the chair before returning to his own seat.

“How is your leg after your hunt, Lord Willas?” Maester Lomys had more tact, and his worry was easier to calm.

“Surprisingly well. I only hope I don’t want tomorrow regreting saying so.”

“You know that I’ve been considering the future of House Tyrell, of late?” Mace asked, smiling broadly.

Loras had been conspiring with Renly Baratheon to marry Margaery to the king, Willas knew. The king setting aside Cersei Lannister would lead to a war, and he would prefer Margaery not be in the center of it. Neither did Renly Baratheon speak well of his brother’s treatment of his lady wife. He also knew his father well enough to know that he would never consent to the marriage unless he was certain that Margaery would be queen, and not merely another of King Robert’s whores.

“Have you finally found someone worthy of Margaery’s hand?”

“The only one worthy of Margaery is the crown prince,” Mace insisted.

“The boy is only three years younger than her, and it would bind the Reach to the crown,” Willas agreed, shifting to take more of his weight on his good leg, “it would be a good match.”

“Which is why I want to talk to you about Sansa Stark.”

“Lord Stark’s eldest daughter?”

“Yes. I fear she’s Prince Joffrey’s best marriage prospect. She’s the niece of the woman King Robert was betrothed to marry and the daughter of the his dear friend, as well as the same age as the prince. However, if the Stark girl’s hand is taken then Margaery is the obvious choice.” Mace was beaming, obviously pleased with his newest plan.

“Lord Stark isn’t a fool, he must know that his daughter might be queen. Loras is close to her age, but is a third son,and I am ten years her senior.” Mace may not care about the age gap, but most lords did. From what little he had heard of Lord Stark, Willas did not think he would disregard it for the sake of power.

“What other marriage prospects does she have? The Martells’ heir is a girl, Renly and Lord Tywin’s son are of an age with you, the Arryn boy is too young, and Edmure Tully is her uncle. If Lord Stark is so set on a royal marriage, he does have a second daughter only three years younger than Prince Joffrey.”

Willas decided against reminding his father that if Lord Stark found no other betrothal he would have his bannermen lining up for the chance to marry their leige lord’s daughter. “So you mean to offer my hand to her, and make Sansa Stark the Lady of Highgarden in hopes that King Robert will prefer the maiden three years older than the one three years younger?”

“He could marry the younger prince or the princess to one of Lord Stark’s children, but the better prospect is to ally with the Reach than to renew the alliance with the North.”

His father had a point. Marriages between young maidens and older lords were common, and even ten years wasn’t so extreme that it would be frowned upon. “The wedding would have to be put off for a year or two, the girl is only sixteen.”

“Lord Stark is an honorable man. So long as the betrothal is in place he will not break it. And I am told Lady Sansa takes after her mother in looks: fair skin, Tully red hair, and blue eyes.” Mace dismissed his concerns.

Willas had never sired a bastard, but he had to wonder if it had escaped his father’s notice that he had courted of his own accord Meredyth Crane, Rebekka Rowan, and Amlyn Ambrose, all of whom styled their dark hair in ringlets and had eyes of onyx. He had never pursued a daughter of the Riverlands. “If Lord Stark agrees to the betrothal you could invite Lady Sansa to Highgarden. I would like to know her beyond merely her name if we are to be married.”

“I doubt Lord Stark would refuse, the future Lady of Highgarden needs to know Highgarden as well as any daughter born of House Tyrell.”

“Was there anything else? Grandmother is expecting me within the hour.”

“No, that was all. I will inform you when Lord Stark’s reply arrives.” Willas stood, bracing himself on his cane, and said nothing when Maester Lomys moved to open the door for him.

His grandmother’s rooms were in the traditional Tyrell family quarters, but rather than taking the skyway he took the longer way. After his leg had been crushed multiple elevators had been installed ithin Highgarden, to enable him to reach the important rooms even if he had never been able to leave his wheelchair. All were styled after the one within Casterly Rock, and had been built by a man from the Westerlands. They had cost quite a lot, but less than moving every important place within HIghgarden to the ground floor. The only issue was that he had to go all the way to the ground floor, then walk across the courtyard and enter a different one. It took far longer than walking across the skyway, but also saved his leg the strain of the stairs.

When he entered her study, Lady Olenna was already attended by Margaery and Lady Leonette. Margaery still wore her riding gear from the fox hunt, but Garlan’s wife’s had been there longer. She wore a loose dress and a beautiful rose-red headwrap, and was sipping from a cup of tea.

“Willas,” his grandmother frowned at him, eyes sharp despite her tone, “there you are. What did my son have to say?”

“Father wanted to ask my opinion about a marriage offer,” Willas said. He took the chair next to Margaery, easing himself down as she poured him a cup of tea.

“Who am I to marry now?” Margaery asked.

“Prince Joffrey. To facilitate your marriage, I am to marry Sansa Stark.”

Margaery looked to their grandmother, frowning, “Lord Stark has two daughters. What prevents him from making one Lady of Highgarden and the other Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“You, my dear. Your father will rely on you to convince Prince Joffrey that you are a better marriage prospect than a Stark.” His grandmother’s laugh was grating and harsh. “It would not be an incorrect assessment. Daughters of the First Men have a certain wild beauty about them, but know nothing of politics.”

“Kingdoms have been lost for Stark girls,” Leonette said.

“Kingdoms have been lost for barefoot peasant girls who called themselves witches,” Lady Olenna scoffed, “men are fools for a pretty girl.”

“I’m told that Lady Sansa takes after her mother’s Tully blood.” Willas would have to find out more about her, it was likely there were traders who had visited White Harbor and would have heard of or seen the girl. It wouldn’t be overly difficult to find out.

“In looks, perhaps,” Lady Olenna reached up to brush a bit of her hair out of her face and back into her downy cloud of hair, mostly black with traces of grey,” but the girl will still be a Stark when it comes to her knowledge of politics. Were I King Robert I’d sooner marry my son to a Rosby than a Stark.”

Margaery laughed, “Grandmother, if you were King Robert you would have married Prince Joffrey to Daenerys Targaryen and bound the realm together by blood.”

Grandmother scoffed, but did not object to the suggestion.

“If Lord Stark agrees to the betrothal Lady Sansa will be invited to Highgarden for a year or two so that she might learn our customs,” Willas interupted.  “She may be ill-informed, but I doubt the girl lacks a formal education. She can be taught all she needs to know.”

All of his life his mother had been considered second to the Queen of Thorns, even after his father was Lord of Highgarden. The servants came to her to confirm how much wine to purchase and the high lord’s wives catered favor with her. If he was to marry Sansa Stark, he wanted her to be Lady of Highgarden in more than name when the time came. His grandmother was clever and wise, and he would listen to her counsel so long as she would give it, but he did not want a wife his grandmother thought so incompetent as to be unwilling to give up her position.

Lady Olenna sighed, and reached for her cup of tea, white with a ring of green hands around the rim. “For all our sakes, let us hope so.”


	2. Southron Ambitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A raven arrives in Winterfell. 
> 
> Meera Reed/Robb Stark

2/11/302

Rickon struggled to pull back the bow, arm shaking as Meera Reed directed him. He released the arrow too early, unable to hold the string. The arrow impacted the bottom of the target, no where near the bullseye. For a moment, he seemed dejected, but Meera gripped his arm.

“That’s a good shot! The first time I shot a bow I missed completely.” She encouraged him.

“The first time I shot a bow I almost hit Jon.” Bran added, from across the yard, where he and Robb were practicing with training swords. Robb had stopped focusing on the practice and was watching Meera’s tutoring. She had only been in Winterfell five months, but already Robb adored her.

Above the training yard, Ned laughed. He remembered that day. Robb and Jon had spent several hours trying to help Bran at least hit something near the target for their own protection. They had only succeeded after Robb enlisted Theon Greyjoy’s help. Even then, it took Arya’s persistence to get Bran comfortable.

“A raven arrived for you, Lord Stark.” The floor under Maester Luwin’s feet creaked as he crossed it, withdrawing the letter from his sleeve.

“From Lady Barbrey again?” Ned asked. She had been writing for several months now, trying to arrange a betrothal between her heir Rickard and Sansa. It was not a terrible match, as it would make Sansa Lady Dustin, but Rickard was eight years older than Sansa and there were other heirs closer in age. Catelyn had expressed that Sansa wished to marry south. Ned knew he could not give every one of his children what they wished, but Sansa’s request was simple enough. There were many Riverlords who would be pleased to marry their liege lord’s cousin in a few year’s time.

“No, the letter is from the Tyrells of Highgarden.” Maester Luwin handed him the tightly wrapped letter, and Ned turned it to look at the Tyrell seal before breaking it. It had been some time since he received correspondence from the south, and never from Highgarden. He read it slowly once he was assured it was not urgent, a frown tugging at his mouth.

“Lord Tyrell requests a betrothal between Sansa and his heir,” Ned said at last, keeping his voice low enough to not be heard, trying to remember how old the boy had been at the time of the war. “Lord Willas is… thirty and two?”

“Twenty-and-six, my lord.”

“Ten years older than Sansa. I had hoped for a match closer in age.”

“Lord Tyrell has another unwed son, a boy of twenty, but Willas is his heir.” The maester offered. “If you are willing to forgo Highgarden, I am certain he would be willing to offer the younger son.”

Highgarden was half a year’s ride south, farther than he had imagined any of his family would go, but he knew that Catelyn would be pleased at the prospect. The most attractive matches among the Great Houses were Renly Baratheon and Willas Tyrell, and to have one asking for Sansa’s hand was everything Catelyn could have asked for. Ned was only glad it was not Lord Renly. Some part of him recoiled at the idea of marrying a Stark girl to a Baratheon Lord, and it was not a reaction he would relish explaining to his wife.

“Where is Lady Catelyn?” Ned asked.

“I believe she is reviewing the grain stores, my lord. Shall I send for her?”

“No, I will go to her.” Catelyn’s study would be quieter than the training yard. There was no need to concern the children with a betrothal offer that had not even been considered yet. The halls were surprisingly quiet, leaving him with his own thoughts. The last time that a Stark girl had gone south she had never returned. Lyanna had only been a year younger than Sansa when Rhaegar had spirited her away to Dorne, abandoning his lady wife and the realm itself. But the Targaryens were gone now, and Sansa was in no danger from the crown. No matter Robert’s other faults, he would not kidnap Stark girls.

When he opened the door, his wife glanced up, then smiled. “How was Bran’s training going?” Catelyn was alone, which was unusual as she normally had Sansa or Lady Poole with her, but Ned still locked the door behind him. He turned back to a somber Catelyn. “Is something wrong?”

“I recieved a letter from Highgarden.” Rather than explaining he simply handed her the letter. Her concern quickly turned to elation, a smile spreading over her face as she read.

“Ned, this is wonderful! Sansa will be Lady of Highgarden, her sons will be lords and knights, her daughters marry high lords.”

“Is Sansa ready?”

“She could run Winterfell if I was away, I imagine she can easily learn to rule Highgarden with the assistance of Lady Tyrell to become used to the Reach’s politics and stores.” She searched his face. “Is something wrong?”

“Lord Willas is ten years older than Sansa, I had hoped for a match of a closer age,” he answered. It almost sounded feeble to his ears, when they had once considered Rickard, who was almost as old and of a far lesser house.

“Ten years is not so much as to prevent the match,” Catelyn answered, “Jon Arryn was far older than that when he was married to Lysa, and the other heirs of the Great Houses are as old or older. There is the matter of Joffrey Baratheon, though…”

Ned frowned, “Robert’s oldest son? What of him?”

“King Robert was once arranged to marry your sister Lyanna. He might think to honor that match by offering to wed Sansa to Joffrey, although I supposed that there is always Arya to consider-”

“I’ll not have Arya married south,” Ned interrupted,more sharply than he intended. He would certainly not have her married to Robert’s son, even if Arya herself had desired a southron match,, “once she’s of a proper age there are many Northern sons suitable for her to wed.”

Catelyn did not protest directly, but Ned knew her well enough to know that she had no intent of forgetting the subject, even if she was willing to let it go for now. “It would be well looked-upon to marry a Stark daughter to one of our bannermen, there hasn’t been such a marriage for several generations. There is also the matter of Lord Willas’ leg to consider. Sansa hopes to marry a knight, she may be concerned for his health.”

“Maester Luwin reminded me that Lord Tyrell has a younger son, and Ser Loras is a knight of some renown, but not his father’s heir.”

“No, if Sansa is to marry a Tyrell it must be Lord Willas, knight or no.”

“We do not have to accept,” Ned added, “and Highgarden is so very far from here.”

“It is one of the best marriages we could hope for. The Reach is powerful in men and resources, Sansa would be lady of a Great House, and the Starks would gain new allies. Unless we intend to propose to King Robert that Sansa marry the prince then I think we should accept. There’s also the matter of Bran and Rickon.”

“Bran is twelve and Rickon seven. It will be some time before either of them will need to think of betrothals.” The Manderlys had approached him concerning Bran, but he doubted that they would wait, Wynafryd was already twenty and one.

“Bran has spoken for years of wanting to be a knight, and is old enough to be a page. If Sansa is to go to Highgarden, perhaps he could accompany her and squire for her betrothed or Lord Tyrell. You were friends with King Robert of old, perhaps he would agree to squire him in Kings Landing.” Catelyn looked pained at the suggestion, but for a moment Ned could only remember what happened the last time a Stark went to Kings Landing at the request of the king. Robert had returned his father’s bones alongside Brandon’s, but the mix of ash in the tombs could not be sworn to one man or the other. Ned had not asked how the maesters had determined it, had only gone home and buried Lyanna beside them.

“Ned?”

He started, looking up to find Catelyn watching him, one of her hands brushing down the white-and-red gown she wore. “Forgive me, what did you say?”

“If we are to marry Sansa to Willas Tyrell she will need to spend time in Highgarden. The wedding can be put off a few years, until she’s of a proper age.”

“If Sansa agrees to the match I will write back to Lord Tyrell. You are correct, Catelyn it is a good match.” So long as Sansa was happy he would marry her to the Martells of Dorne if she so wished.

Catelyn hesitated, and Ned wasn’t sure if she was wondering if he had heard her or what Sansa would think of the offer. “I will ask her this evening after dinner, so she will have a chance to consider before giving us her answer. Does Maester Luwin know anything of Lord Willas?”

“Some, I am certain. Sansa is welcome to speak to him.”

“I will speak to him, and tell her what he says. Until she decides I will ask her to keep the offer quiet, I don’t want all of Winterfell talking of it if she declines.”

Ned stepped back into the hall and headed toward his solar. Robb’s marriage to Meera would be soon, and Catelyn was correct when she said that Bran and Rickon would soon need betrothals of their own. Rickon, at least, needed to marry in the North, but if Bran wanted to be a knight then his betrothal would likely be put off for a time. Arya, though, Arya reminded him too much of Lyanna, too much of his sister’s quiet disapproval and desperate departure.

He’d not see Arya suffer Lyanna’s fate.


	3. Knights and Maidens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to add pairing notes at the end of chapters. People who want to see them can skip to the end and read them.

02/12/302

Sansa was still laughing as she made her way up the stairs, her beautiful pale pink skirts clutched in her hands. The memory of Cley’s hand on her waist still lingered and it made her cheeks flush as pink as her dress. Jeyne giggled as she pulled open Sansa’s door and they scurried inside. 

“Oh, he’s so handsome!” Sansa collapsed onto her bed, hands clasped to her chest. 

“Roose danced with me twice!” Jeyne twirled on the floor, her skirts twisting around her ankles as she stopped. “Do you think he might marry me?”

“You’d have the loveliest children,” Sansa giggled, as Jeyne sat backward at her vanity, gasping for breath. 

“Imagine little boys with your eyes and Cley’s hair. Or your red hair and grey eyes!”

Sansa leaned down to pull off her shoes, then untied her hose, which she carefully lay on her bed. Then she stood and padded across the floor to sit beside Jeyne, who reached up to unclasp her necklace. “Do you think he really likes me? Enough to ask father?”

“Sansa, how could he not? You’re beautiful and kind, and a Stark of Winterfell.” Jeyne placed the necklace among her jewelry and fussed at the ties on the back of her dress. Sansa stood to allow Jeyne to help her take the gown off, leaving her in the white chemise which fell to just above her knees. . Downstairs in the large rooms the kirtle was warm enough to keep her from freezing, but here next to the fire it was unbearably how. 

“There are other girls he could like. Alys Karstark was pretty tonight.”

“Alys Karstark is married.”

“Even so.”

A knock sounded at the door as Jeyne began to take Sansa’s hair out of it’s braids, and her mother pushed it open. “Jeyne, would you mind stepping out for a moment? I will comb Sansa’s hair.”

“Yes, my lady.” Jeyne hurried to the door, grabbing her shoes from beside the vanity, and closed it tightly behind her.

“Is something the matter, mother?” Her mother did not normally visit after feasts, she had the servants to instruct and guests to see to.

Catelyn smiled at that, “no, darling. I only wanted to speak to you alone.”

Sansa could feel her heartbeat. Had Cley asked for her hand? “About what?”

“Here, sit, let me untie your braids,” her mother collected a comb from the vanity and began to untie her braids, separating the hair with gentle fingers. “Your father received a letter from Highgarden.”

“Highgarden? What did the Tyrells want with us?”

“Lord Mace wishes to bind our houses together. He has asked for your hand in the name of his eldest son, Willas.” 

Sansa almost forgot to breathe. She had read of Highgarden in the septa’s books. It was surrounded on all sides by great green fields, and sat on top of a hill, protected by massive white walls. Visible from many miles away, all of Highgarden was made of the same white stone, and it was several times the size of Winterfell. While the castle was covered in flora, and had three weirwoods within it’s godswood. It also held a sept matched only by the Great Sept of Baelor. The septa had said there were singers and bards and knights without number who visited and served there. When they had read of it Sansa had imagined herself ruling over the castle as it’s lady, her husband a handsome Tyrell knight who had won every tourney he had ever entered, and been sad that it could never be true.

“Lord Tyrell wants me to marry his heir? Truely? Oh, mother, I have heard of his brother, Ser Loras, is Willas so great a knight as his brother? Is he very handsome?” Sansa could picture them now, Willas in his armor, a lance in his hand, crowing her Queen of Love and Beauty, laying a crown of flowers upon her head.

“Willas Tyrell is very handsome. He is tall and lean. He has dark skin and dark brown hair he keeps in thick locks. When he was three-and-ten he was in his first tourney,” Catelyn answered, starting to comb out the bottom of Sansa’s hair, “he was knocked from his horse and his foot caught in his stirrup. When his horse fell on top of him, his leg was crushed.”

“Crushed? W-was he all right?”

“The maesters set his leg, and he regained his ability to walk. I am told that he uses a cane most days, and on his worst days he cannot walk at all. Instead of becoming a knight he took up scholarly pursuits, and he breeds the finest horses and hounds in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Oh… how lovely.” Sansa had dreamed for years of a knight coming to marry her. He would impress her father through his noble service and be granted her hand. She had never thought of marrying a man who could not walk. “Does father wish for me to marry him?

Her mother’s hands stilled in her hair, “your father wishes for you to be happy. I do not believe he would require you to marry anyone. He is a good man, Sansa. My father did not ask my opinion when he arranged my marriage, nor did he ask my sister’s. If it is your wish then he will reject the offer. I had thought you wanted to marry a southron lord?”

“I do! It’s only- I had hoped to marry a knight… like the stories of Prince Aemon and Queen Naerys, or as Prince Duncan loved his Jenny. Even Florian the Fool was a knight.”

“Those are stories, Sansa. When I wed your father I had never seen him before, and it is the same for many girls. I grew to love him, as you could love Lord Willas.”

“But father is- he is as good as any knight, you know.” Northern men were not knights, but they could still battle as well as any southron lord.

“Is it his leg, then?”

“I do not mean to be cruel, mother.”

“But you are concerned? If he is to be Lord of Highgarden he is suitable to marry.”

“How is he to be my husband if he cannot walk?”

“It is only his leg that is injured, Sansa. He can still sire children, and his sons will inherit Highgarden.”

“But he will never ride in a tourney or win honors!”

Her mother met her eyes in the mirror, and Sansa could see the disappointment on her face.. “The Reach has many men. You would be safe in war, and when he is Lord Tyrell you will be the Lady of Highgarden, controlling all of her resources. Ladies of the Reach will cater favor with you, and perhaps you could even be a lady-in-waiting to the queen for a time. It does not matter if Willas himself can win honors and crown you with flowers, Sansa. Your daughters would marry great lords, and your sons will be knights and lords and septons.”

“I had thought- that is, I danced with Cley tonight. Robb said he was fond of me.”

“His house is already sworn to Winterfell, but if you wish to marry him I could speak to your father. It would not bring us as much fortune as Highgarden might, but it is not a poor match. Do you no longer desire a southron match?”

“I would love to marry and go south. It sounds wonderful from the singers and the books, and what you have told me. I wanted to marry a man who would love me as Florian loved Jonquil.”

“You are young, Sansa. Every girl wishes to marry a man who can crown her Queen of Love and Beauty, but when I was your age I married a somber stranger I had never met before that day because our families needed to join together to fight a war. You, at least, would meet Willas before your wedding. I am told that he is a kind and honorable man, who would treat you well.”

“Could I wed Ser Loras, mother? He is a Tyrell.” 

“No. Lord Willas is Lord Tyrell’s heir. If you were to marry a younger son you would not be Lady of Highgarden. You cannot marry a landless third son merely because he is a knight. You are a daughter of Winterfell, deserving of a castle and a lord, of an inheritance for your sons. You cannot base your life on stories and songs.”

“I understand, mother. Must I decide now?”

Her mother set the comb on the vanity. “No, think on it for a time. Highgarden is a great prize to lose merely because of a limp, and our families would be allies for generations. Until you decide, keep the name of your suitor quiet. If you refuse him it would not be well for all of Winterfell to know of it.”

“I will think on it. Thank you for telling me.” 

Catelyn kissed her head and left quietly. No sooner was she gone than Jeyne had nudged open the door to peek in. Seeing Sansa was alone she hurried inside. Sansa sat silent, staring into her mirror as Jeyne chattered as she put away her hose and gown. Then she turned down the sheets of the bed. “Sansa? Is everything all right? What did your mother need to speak to you of?”

“I have a suitor,” she said, “a man of great wealth and heir to his father’s house, but who cannot walk. He has asked my father for my hand.”

“Is he very handsome?”

“Mother says he is, but, Jeyne, he cannot walk!”

“Do you have to marry him?”

“I do not have to, but mother said it would ally our houses. I think she wants me to marry him.” Sansa had heard little of her mother’s life before the wedding,except her childhood in Riverrun. She could not imagine her father forcing her to marry a man she did not want and forcing her to leave her home. 

“He is a high lord, then?” 

Highgarden was a great prize. “Yes, with many bannermen.” 

Jeyne studied her face, sensing her hesitance to continue the conversation. “Well, we do not have to think of it now. Sleep, and you can pray in the morning. Perhaps the gods will have some guidance.”

“Will you stay with me?” She did not want to be alone with her thoughts tonight.

“Of course! My room is colder than yours.” Jeyne joined her under the furs, curled up on one side and fell to sleep as quickly as she ever had.

Sansa lay awake long into the night, thinking of knights and of tourneys and of Willas Tyrell. 


	4. Family, Duty, Growing Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News arrives at Highgarden.

02/26/302

During the Targaryen reign the Great Houses rarely married outside of their bannermen. Of the seven-and-ten Targaryen kings, eight had married other Targaryens, while only two had married into the Great Houses. Little direct competition was held between the kingdoms, and thus there was no need to secure bonds across the kingdoms. Robert’s Rebellion had changed that. Now the kingdoms must be tied together by blood, least they fall apart.

That was what drove Mace’s ambition to make his daughter queen.

Willas kept that in mind as his father bustled into his living quarters in the early morning. His leg had locked up during the night, and Maester Lomys had forbidden him from leaving his rooms until the fit passed. When his father had sent form him, the maester had gone in his place to explain, and Willas had insisted that his squires help him into his sitting room. For Mace to want to see him in such a state it must be important. “Willas, there you are, I am sorry to bother you at such a poor time.”

“I apologize for not responding to your summons. Maester Lomys thinks that I might be back on my feet by tomorrow if I rest my leg properly.” He set his book aside, gently tucking a bookmark within it’s pages.

“Of course, of course! You must take care of your health,” Mace sat in the chair beside his makeshift bed and handed over one of the letters he held. “Lord Stark has agreed to the betrothal! He wants the wedding to be put off until his daughter is eight-and-ten, but suggests fostering her at Highgarden until she is old enough.”

The letter was written in a woman’s handwriting, but signed by Lord Stark, and Willas took the time to fully read it. “Do you intend to accept his offer to foster a Tyrell in Winterfell?”

“Lorent is of an age with his youngest son, I think he’d do well to foster in the North. I will speak with Leo about it when he returns.”

Sending someone to befriend the youngest Stark boy might open an opportunity for a second wedding of a Stark to the Reach, but would at least assure that they would have a better idea of Northern culture. “A good idea, I think. Lorent can be knighted once he returns so long as he is properly trained.”

“This also arrived,” Mace handed over the second letter, “It contains the unfortunate news of the death of the Hand of the King.”

“...and the king’s procession to Winterfell.” The message was brief, a courtesy sent to the kingdoms by the maesters of Kings Landing.

“We secured the Stark girl just in time!” Mace laughed, “I expect he will ask Lord Stark to be his Hand, perhaps this is our chance to get Margaery into Kings Landing. I must write back to him, I only wished to inform you.”

“Lord Willas?” Lyonel asked, standing in the doorway with the books Willas had requested in his arms, “Lady Alerie is here.”

“Well let her in! Can you not see that he’s dressed?” Mace collected Lord Stark’s letter and stood quickly. “I’ll leave you to your mother, I need to write back to Kings Landing.”

His mother was dressed in the green of House Tyrell with white roses patterned across her gown. It was a paler color than most of his grandmother’s dresses, made for her light brown skin and silver hair, a remnant of her Targaryen grandmother. Even so, Margaery got her soft brown eyes from her, and Garlan his smile. “Your father’s beside himself,” she said, placing the wrappings in her hand on the table next to his bed.

“So long as Prince Joffrey is not betrothed to Arya Stark when they return, I’m sure he’ll continue to be pleased.”

Alerie laughed softly, “and you, my son? Are you pleased?”

“I am not displeased. Tullys and Starks are known to have large families, Lady Sansa should have no trouble with childbirth. Grandmother fears that she will need training in politics, but as long as the girl is intelligent and has a good education she can learn.”

His mother’s hands had always been gentler than the maesters, and it was no different as she secured the bandages across his brace, adding further stabilization to his leg. “So she will run your household and birth your children. That is all you can think of?”

“It is said she looks like a Tully, red hair and blue eyes, and few men would deny that the Tully women are pretty.”

“Pretty, yes, but she is hardly Victaria.” Alerie was careful not to look up from her work as she spoke.

Her words made Willas pause. No, no Tully could match Victaria’s dark curly hair and the smattering of freckles across her face, nor her sweet laugh. He took care to soften his voice when he spoke. “Is that what you have come to speak to me of? Did you forget that father wed her to Bulwer?”

“No, nor has it escaped my notice that after cutting her hair the morning of her wedding and keeping it short for ten years she has grown it out of late, aftering bringing her daughter to Highgarden and becoming my lady companion.”

“We both know that father would never let me wed a Tyrell cousin with no claim. I also doubt Lady Sansa would be pleased to discover that I was bedding a woman who is not my lady wife, even before our betrothal.”

“Do you intend to tell Victaria that?”

“When Lady Sansa comes to Highgarden I will do nothing to bring her dishonor. She is a Stark, mother, not a Tyrell.”

Finished with her work, Alerie took the chair beside his bed. “It seems the further north one goes the stricter one’s idea of honor becomes, it seems. I came to speak to you about Lady Sansa’s ladies-in-waiting.”

“She will bring a Northerner with her, one of her current ladies.” The letter had been very specific, and Willas suspected that Lady Stark herself had written it. “A girl of her age, her name is Jeyne Poole.”

“She will have Margaery for at least a short time as well, I’m certain your sister will take her in. When Margaery leaves, I thought to have Megga stay in Highgarden with Sansa. Your father wishes to find Alla a betrothal alongside Margaery if he can, but Megga will have a betrothal made for her in the Reach. Lady Sansa will fit in well in Olenna’s court, I’m certain, but she needs at least one other lady-in-waiting.”

A lady-in-waiting was a woman of noble birth who was of a good family, yet was of lower rank then her mistress. They must be informed in etiquette and prepared to keep their lady company. Their daily tasks involved a range of duties, including helping their mistress dress in the morning, reading and playing music for her, and helping her during childbirth and the raising of her children.

Margaery had Elinor, Alyce Graceford, and Meredyth Crane, all of whom had been with her since girlhood, and if she was betrothed to Prince Joffrey, she would gain Baratheon ladies as well. Lady Leonette had her sister Luthena, married to one of her father’s bannermen’s sons who was now a household knight in Highgarden, when she came to Highgarden, and Bellena of House Bushy had joined her here. House Bushy answered directly to House Tyrell, but they were small and very close to Highgarden, not suitable to provide Sansa’s ladies. Perhaps a maid-in-waiting for one of their younger daughters would not be a poor idea. The Lady of Highgarden must have ladies-in-waiting from high houses in the Reach, as his mother and grandmother did.

“Lord Randyll has three daughters, does he not? And Lord Rowan has two. One of them may suit.”

“I will speak to them. One of Lord Randyll’s younger daughters is betrothed to the elder Redwyne, but I’m certain an agreement can be reached. His lady wife is often too ill to attend court, and having Lady Tyrell’s ear would do him well.”

“Lord Stark wrote that his wife will accompany Lady Sansa for a time, I think the eastern wing will be best suited for them,” Willas mused, “Sansa and her ladies can be moved into the family wing after the wedding.”

“You’ll have to find something to gift your wife, to welcome her to the south,” Alerie chided. “Your lord father gave me a foxhound when we first met.”

“I’ve half a year, mother, I’m certain I can find something she will like.” If Lady Sansa wanted a fox hound he could provide, perhaps a horse would be better? The Northern horses were nothing like those in Highgarden, and she would likely need one. A gaited horse would be best for long journeys, bt she may have to learn to ride it properly. He had a lovely red filly that might be suitable, once trained.

“Willas?” Margaery opened the door, pausing just inside, Lyonel peering over her shoulder. “Oh, there you are. Good, look what I brought for you!”

A young page was only a few steps behind his sister, hands full of flowers. He set them in the vase as Margaery directed him too, and hurried out the door under Lyonel’s glare while Margaery fussed over them.

“Sweet sister, if you bring me flowers every time this happens we will soon be out of flowers in the gardens.” Willas noted.

“Then we will have to purchase more gardens, dear Willas. Mother, the wine shipment from the Arbor has arrived, but the servants are asking for you because they seem to be missing a few items.”

Alerie sighed. “We were just discussing Lady Sansa. I told Willas that perhaps he should get her a gift to welcome her south. Perhaps you can convince him.”

“What kind of gift would you like, Margaery?” Willas asked, as their mother left to sort out the latest issue with the wine shipments. Last time a number of crates had simply been missing, and it had taken three weeks to sort out what had happened.

“A hawk, I think.” Once she decided the flowers were suitable she sat next to his bedside. “I am told Kings Landing loves fox hunts, I think the court would love to see one of your hawks.”

“Perhaps I will get you a hawk for your wedding, then.” Willas agreed. “If your lord husband does not get you one first.”

Margaery hesitated, “If I wed the crown prince, I do not think I will be receiving many gifts from him.”

Willas lowered his voice. “You speak of the rumors of the prince’s temper?”

“Temper? It’s said that one of his whores was dead and the Kingsguard had to carry her from his room.”

“Said by whom?” Willas had heard similar rumors, but none to that extent.

“Grandmother knows Lady Rosby, and she was at court at that time.” Margaery said, voice low but insistent.

“So she wrote it down and sent it to Highgarden? I would worry about the woman’s wits.” Such an action could get her killed, no matter if her accusation was true or not.

“You know grandmother can be… persuasive when she wants to be. She wants to know as much about the prince as she can before we go to Kings Landing. And then there are Lord Renly’s claims.” Willas somehow doubted that the queen and a member of the Kingsguard were betraying their vows to partake in incest, but he knew Loras believed Renly. And Margaery loved Loras dearly.

“Such claims are up to Lord Renly to prove, Margaery. That is why father is not considering his proposal until such a time as they are proven to the king.” Sending Margaery to seduce the king would result in a sister with no marriage prospects and angry Lannisters. If they were lucky. If the were unlucky they would have a king’s bastard to raise a well.

“I would rather be Lady of Riverrun than queen if any of those rumors are true.”

Willas reached out to take his sister’s hand in his. “Perhaps you still will be, sweet sister, and Arya Stark will be queen in a long and glorious reign. Unless Lady Rosby saw this with her own eyes she has no evidence, nor does Lord Renly.” They both knew that their father would not be deterred from this path, and Willas would rather Margaery not worry herself sick about something that they did not know was true.

“Then I wish Arya Stark the best of luck.” Margaery blinked quickly, collecting herself. “Forgive me, Willas. I must sound silly.”

“You do not sound silly, Margaery. I would be worried as well if these rumors were of my betrothed. Yet you would be a wonderful queen, Margaery, loved by all the people. Your sons would rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne, and your daughters would marry high lords. Even so, you would always be a Tyrell of Highgarden, and welcome to come home.”

Willas’ words sounded hollow to him, knowing his father as he did, but Margaery seemed to take some comfort in them. Her hand tightened around his, and then she let go. “Do you need anything, Willas?”

“The maesters say only time will help. You might check on Garlan, he’s missed Leonette of late.”

“I do not think I wish to see Garlan now. Can I read to you?”

Willas could not truly say he blamed her. Leonette had fostered at Highgarden as a girl, and she and Garlan had always been fond of each other. While Willas and Margaery were expected to marry to promote the family he was married to the woman he had wanted. Neither had Loras been recalled from Storm’s End, despite being of an age to be betrothed. Willas knew that his position in the Stormlands was itself a promotion of House Tyrell, but he also knew that Margaery would not appreciate hearing that now. He reached for the book he had put aside when his father arrived.

“Here, this is a history of the North and House Stark. You can read this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alerie's grandmother is Rhae Targaryen, Egg's sister. It's a fan theory of mine based on the Targaryen hints in the family and Alerie's hair color, even though she's younger than her husband.


	5. Winter Weddings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb is wed to Meera in the Winterfell godswood.

06/01/302

“Meera doesn’t have to wear dresses!” Arya’s grey dress was trimmed in white, turned muddy by the ground already, and she had only been in it half an hour. Her hair was already loose from it’s braid on one side, and Sansa despaired of getting it back into place in time.

“Meera is wearing a dress right now.” Her mother said.

“It’s her wedding!”

“What will the queen think if you go around in muddy breeches at your brother’s wedding?”

“Who cares what the queen thinks?”

“Arya-” Catelyn stopped and took a deep breath. Then she turned away to fetch a new dress from the closet, Lady Bessa Blackwood went with her. Arya sat on the stool she had been placed on, glaring at anyone who dared meet her eye.

“Do you want me to re-do your braids?” Sansa asked.

“I want you to leave me alone!”

Sansa opened her mouth to shout back, but bit back her words at the last moment. Her mother had spent time teaching her to negotiate over the last several months, and one of the first things she had learned was that shouting never helped. Not even if it was at Arya. Meera had good luck with Arya, and she never yelled, how had she done it?

“I know. But you can’t go to Robb’s wedding with your hair a mess. We have to show people that all of us approve of the wedding and are there to support Robb. You like Meera, don’t you?” These were things that Sansa had understood since she was a girl of three, but it was the only place she knew to start.

“I like her more than I like you.”

That was true. Meera went riding with the men when their father went down to the town, or to speak to the bannermen, or and even during the execution. Her father even encouraged it, and so Robb did too. When Meera went, their father allowed Arya to go, even if mother did not want her too. Granted, mother had spent more time by Bran’s bed and less fussing over Arya recently. Of late Arya had gotten to train in the yard more as well, as Meera could fight with a sword as well as any of the guards. The crannogmen were odd, but Lord Howland was their father’s true friend and Meera would be Lady of Winterfell one day.

Sansa said none of that. Instead she said, “Then you cannot shame her in front of all of Winterfell. If you go out with your hair undone and your dress is covered in mud then everyone will think you do not like her and do not want her to marry Robb.”

“...fine, you can do my hair.” Sansa quickly grabbed Arya’s comb and sat next to her before she could change her mind. By the time their mother returned with a new dress, Arya’s hair was done and Sansa had helped her swap out her hose for a clean pair. Arya allowed Beth to help her into the new dress without a fuss, although she still glared at the slippers Jeyne brought for her.

“I want both of you to be polite to the royal family.” Catelyn said, as Arya was almost dressed.

“Yes, mother.” Sansa responded.

“I _am_ polite to them.” Arya snapped.

“You called Prince Joffrey a coward, Arya!” Catelyn said.

“Well, he was! He got mad just because he was worse than Robb with a sword and refused to train anymore! And Tommen’s fat and stupid!”

“Arya!”

“It isn’t that the prince is a coward! He just didn’t want to be pushed into the mud in front of all his men!” Sansa interjected. Prince Joffrey had been nothing but polite to Arya, and she was rude to him every time she saw him.

“Sansa, that is enough. You should never raise your voice when speaking. Go and see if Lady Meera needs any assistance.” Mother turned back to Arya. “Arya, do you know why you have to be polite to the royal family?”

“Because they are more important than me?”

Jeyne followed Sansa closely as they moved toward the door.

“No,” Mother answered as the door closed behind them, “Because the North has need of resources from the other kingdoms, and the king has the ability to stop that trade or to put tariffs on it to make our lives more difficult.”

~oOo~

The sun was setting. Above them the sky was painted orange and pink, the last rays of sunlight through the trees illuminated the bright red leaves of the weirwood and made the tree glow in their light. It was as if the godswood held its breath.

Sansa stood beside her mother, on Robb’s side of the tree, hands folded in front of her as Meera and her father came up the aisle. The bride wore a gown of white, patterned as if with leaves, a long train trailing behind her and wolf’s fur upon her shoulders. It was pinned in place with scales too large and thick to belong to a fish, and she wore a cloak in the green of her House. Meera’s long brown hair was loose around her shoulders, only the top pinned back so as to secure the veil over her head.

Sansa had labored for weeks on that dress, and Meera looked striking in it. She had to wonder if she would look as happy on her wedding day as Meera did now. From the moment they entered the godswood, Meera had eyes only for Robb. They stared at each other as if no one else was there, as if the would would fall if they looked away. Her cheeks were rosy and she was smiling madly.

The sun continued to sink. Around them, men lit lanterns and held them up to light the godswood. The carved face of the weirwood started out at them, the glint from the firelight causing the sap to look like glowing eyes. Yet all was calm. Even Arya was still and silent. This was the way of the North, and they had come to watch Winterfell’s heir be married.

“Who comes before the old gods this night?” Her father’s voice was bold, it carried over the godswood and all those within it.

Lord Howland answered him, a small smile on his face and his arm still wrapped around his daughter’s. “Meera of the House Reed, of the blood of the First Men. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods and be wed. Who comes to claim her?”

Robb stepped forward then, smiling as widely as Meera was. His wolf pup remained in place. Mother had tried to insist that the pup be kenneled, but Meera had intervened on Grey Wind’s behalf. It seemed her faith was well placed. “Robb, of House Stark, heir to Winterfell. Who gives her?”

“Howland of House Reed, head of her House and her lord father.” Lord Howland did not seem to be speaking to Robb, but to the tree itself. Sansa could feel her heartbeat. Her mother had told her of the southron ceremonies, of the septs and the statues and the words, but this was something different. This was not a great ceremony. It had none of the south’s prayers or steps or vows. This was an announcement to the old gods that the marriage was taking place within their sight, in their godswood, under the eyes of their weirwood.

Her father spoke. “Lady Meera, will you take this man?”

The wind picked up slowly, the leaves rustling in its wake. Meera released her father and stepped forward. “I take this man.”

They joined hands, and knelt before the heart tree, looking away from each other for the first time. Robb bowed his head, but Meera looked up, toward the weirwood. Sansa did not know what to say, so instead she whispered a prayer usually recited the morning of a southron wedding, for happiness and strong sons for the newly married couple. She had studied those for so long that they came to her tongue easily, even now.

Robb rose, and helped Meera to her feet. Robb unclasped the Reed cloak around his new wife’s shoulders, and carefully handed it to Lord Howland. Then he took off his own cloak, ice-white with a grey direwolf upon it, shoulders trimmed with fur, and wrapped it around her shoulders. He must have practiced half a hundred times, on Sansa and Jon, and anyone who would stand still long enough and not laugh at him, for the clasp closed easily.

King Robert broke the silence, clapping loudly. It was as if everyone had been waiting, for cheers filled the godswood. Lord Howland’s wife took his arm, and her mother went to her father, and they followed the new couple out of the godswood and back into the warmth of Winterfell. Sansa was to walk in with Tommen, but he had gone with his mother and she was alone for a moment.

She stood and stared at the weirwood, it’s bark glowing in the light of the moon, it’s red leaves thick and dark in the night. It’s red eyes stared out at her, as if accusing. This was one of the last times she would see it, and suddenly she felt as if she was betraying her home by leaving.

“Lady Sansa?”

Sansa started, turning to find Jon watching her. “Oh, I am sorry, Jon. I was only…” She looked back toward the weirwood.

“I think the prince has left already. Do you want me to walk you to the great hall?” Laughter and music echoed through the courtyard and into the godswood, she could hear the king laughing even from here. How long had she stood staring at the heart tree? The godswood was all but empty.

“Yes, Jon. Thank you.”

~oOo~

The night was growing long when Wylis Manderly stood from his chair. “My lord!” He called, his voice carrying across the hall, “shall we call for the bedding?”

Across the hall, the bannermen took up his call. Many banged their fists or cups on the table as they called. “To bed with them! To bed!”

Meera laughed loudly at the call and called back. “So long as you do not tear my dress, my lords.”

“Very well, Lord Manderly. Let us bed them.” Her father replied.

A roar of approval greeted this announcement. Sansa knew the custom, but had never seen a bedding before. Loud music began to play, and a rush of men and boys surrounded Meera. She saw Smalljon Umber steal Meera’s cloak, and then Daryn Hornwood reached to untie the back of her dress. Her mother had instructed her to design it a specific way, and under his hands it came undone far faster than any of Sansa’s dresses ever had. King Robert caught her veil and tossed it aside. Then Theon Greyjoy swept Meera up, somehow losing her dress in the process. Sansa saw Roose Ryswell steal Meera’s only remaining slipper, and the prince reach for her chemise, and then the bride was carted out of the hall.

Sansa could not look long. She joined the throng of women around her brother, all giggling and laughing. The older women were bolder, but Wylla Manderly was tugging at his tunic, while Alys Karstark had stolen his cloak. Jeyne had already stolen one of his shoes, and Sansa darted forward to assist. Robb was laughing and shouting bawdy jokes back at Lady Barbrey that made Sansa’s ears burn. The queen had not joined them, but the princess had, gleeful to help. Catelyn took charge of guiding the group down the hall, bit by bit. She was laughing for the first time since Bran had fallen. By the time they reached the bedchamber her brother was naked as his nameday, and fell into bed where Meera clung to the sheets, still laughing. Sansa’s face had turned red at the sight.

While her mother herded the men from the room and shut the door, Sansa took over the same duty for the women. Arya had not joined them, but Jeyne had to all but drag Wylla from the room so they could close the door.


	6. Princes and Peasants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Roberts procession arrives at Darry.

08/07/302

Sansa had spent most of her life sewing her own clothing. Northern styles were easy and familiar, and Sansa could put together a gown prettier and faster than even her mother could. Yet the styles of the south were still unfamiliar to her. They had deeper necklines, lighter cloth, and seemed to be designed to make a statement rather than for practicality. Sansa loved them.

Currently she had two gowns finished. The first was pale lilac with roses across the neckline, to honor House Tyrell’s sigil. Green leaves and golden vines were embroidered from the shoulders down to the skirt, to meet a direwolf. The second was pale green. It had a skirt so thin it made Sansa nervous, her mother had insisted upon the material, and the bodice was embroidered with gold flowers. By the time they arrived in Kings Landing Sansa hoped to have two more finished, including the one she was working on now. 

Outside she could dimly hear Arya’s voice. Mother had ceased to command Arya and instead begun to try bartering with her. It seemed to work well. Arya was allowed to ride a horse rather than sit in the carriage so long as she wore dresses and kept them clean. She also had been assigned her personal guard, a decision she protested, but agreed was better than sitting in the carriage. Sansa had to admit, she did not want her sister to help sew her dresses. Arya’s needlework was messy and misplaced, and Sansa did not want to have to spend time fixing it. 

Occasionally they were invited to ride in the royal wheelhouse, and then Arya must go with them for propriety’s sake. Today, though, was a quieter day. Her mother sat across from her, finishing the needlework on one of her own dresses. Jeyne had grown tired of the work earlier, and was reading a history of the Reach before taking it back up. Arya was off riding again. She rode so much that their mother had allowed her to wear breeches under her dress, least she get blisters from the saddle. 

Their quiet morning was interrupted by two violent knocks on the door. Her mother began to set aside her sewing, but before she could stand the door was wrenched open by Alyn, one of the guardsmen. Another guard, Desmond, was holding Arya tight as she squirmed, Nymeria anxiously hovering beside his feet.

“Let go!” Arya shrieked. “Let me go, I’ll kill him!”

Arya was filthy and waterlogged, the direwolf at her feet in little better condition. The guard kept his grip on her as he lifted her into the wheelhouse, Nymeria bounding in after her. Lady was already on her feet, sniffing at her sister. While Sansa stared, Jeyne squealed and pulled her feet up on her seat to avoid the mess.

“What is the meaning of this?” Catelyn demanded.

“Lord Eddard’s orders, my lady. He has gone to see King Robert, there has been an incident with the prince. We will remain to guard the wheelhouse.”

Her mother looked down at her daughter, still defiant, and nodded. “Thank you for bringing her.”

“My lady.” Desmond shut the door to the wheelhouse, and Lady Leona Woolfield hurried to set the bar across it.

Catelyn looked down to Arya. “What has happened that your father commanded you be locked in the wheelhouse?”

“It’s all his fault!” Arya accused, tears beginning to fall. Sansa knew her sister well enough to know Arya was angry. She wanted to hear as much as her mother, but Lady Margaret Karstark had moved to find something to dry Arya with so Sansa put her sewing aside and went to find her sister a new dress. “He stabbed Mycah with his sword!”

“Who is ‘he’, Arya?”

“Prince Joffrey!”

Their mother went still, the anger on her face gone. “Tell me what happened, Arya. Quickly.”

“Mycah and I were practicing sword fighting down by the river with sticks. Joffrey came down on his horse and made fun of Mycah for being a butcher’s boy who wanted to be a knight. So he tried to fight him with a sword. It wasn’t fair! Joffrey had a sword and Mycah only had a stick. I wanted to help, but Desmond wouldn’t let me! He tried to tell Joffrey to stop, but he- he insisted. Mycah tried to fight, but he only had a stick! He wasn’t moving-  he killed him! He killed Mycah!”

Arya dissolved into sobs, then. Their mother knelt to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Arya, did anyone harm the prince? You or Desmond or Nymeria?”

Still sobbing, Arya shook her head. “I wanted to! I tried to help!”

“I am certain you did, darling.” Mother had gone very pale during the retelling, but now she moved with a quiet determination. She took the towel that Lady Margaret had found and began to dry Arya off. At her urging, Arya allowed her clothes to be removed and the mud to be cleaned away with a wet rag. Then Catelyn redressed her in soft chemise and a soft grey velvet dress patterned with a faint direwolf pattern across it and gold trim. She combed the knots out of Arya’s hair and left it down, only tying back the very front in a very Northern style. Then she sat Arya between Jeyne and Sansa on the cushions and sat across from them. 

“None of you are to leave my sight without at least one guard. I want you to promise me.”

Tears still streamed from Arya’s eyes, but she nodded. “Yes, mother. I promise”

“I promise too,” Sansa agreed, Jeyne and Beth echoing her words. “For how long?”

“Until I say otherwise. Sansa, when you go to Highgarden you will find that guards are very common there for ladies of noble birth. It will do you well to get used to it.” Sansa nodded. Queen Cersei always had a guard or two around her, usually a Kingsguard, and most often her brother Ser Jaime. 

“What about Mycah?” Arya asked. Sansa could not help but think that if Arya had been riding with the column as she was supposed to be none of this would have happened. Really, playing with a butcher’s boy?

“The prince would not really have killed him, would he have mother?” She asked. Catelyn frowned at her.

“I do not know, Sansa. But until I say otherwise, never be in the presence of a member of the royal family alone. If you are ever nervous come and find me or your father.” She brushed at the red-and-white of her dress.

“But the prince is good and kind! He defended Lady and I when his guards made fun of her!”

“Not everyone is what they seem, Sansa.”

“Will he be punished, mother?” Arya asked. 

“The butcher’s boy?” 

“No, the prince!” Arya insisted.

“That is a difficult question, Arya.” 

“If he killed Mycah he must be punished. Father said-”

“Arya, lower your voice!” Mother insisted sharply. “To speak of such things can be considered treason!”

“To say that a murderer must face punishment?” Arya asked. Sansa did not know what to say. What Arya said was true, if anyone committed murder they were to be punished. 

“Arya, Joffrey is the crown prince. Mycah was the son of a servant. You must understand-” Catelyn’s voice was low, but firm.

Arya lept from her seat. “Understand that Mycah’s life is less important than Joffrey’s because he isn’t highborn?”

“Arya,” Mother hushed her, “You must be quieter. We could all lose our heads for speaking as such.”

“It isn’t fair!”

“Perhaps not. Yet that is the truth.”

Arya stared at her, grey eyes wide and mouth set in a firm line. “I want to go home. If father’s bannermen killed someone for committing no crime they would be punished.”

“Come, both of you, we are going to find your father. I want both of you to stay beside me and remain quiet.” Catelyn paused, looking back at Arya. “And make sure your dress stays clean.”

Sansa was already on her feet, fussing over her own dress, while Arya leapt out of the wheelhouse behind her mother. The king had placed his own tent in the center of the camp,and that was where their mother led them. The room was crowded. Their father stood in front of the king, who was slumped in his seat, his face closed and sullen. Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey stood beside the king, the queen’s hand on her son’s shoulder. 

“Look, Ned, here is your daughter now. Have her tell us what has happened.”

“We know what happened,” Queen Cersei stepped forward, “the butcher’s boy attacked my son, and your girl is lying about it!”

“That’s not true!” Arya said loudly. “He attacked Mycah!”

“Joff told us what happened,” the queen said, “your butcher’s boy hit him with a club and your guard refused to help!”

“That’s not how it was!” Arya said, close to tears again. Catelyn put a hand on her shoulder.

“Yes it is!” Prince Joffrey insisted. “He attacked me! And she threw Lion’s Tooth in the river!” The prince did not so much as look at Arya as he spoke. 

“Liar!” Arya yelled.

“Shut up!” The prince yelled back.

“Enough!”  the king roared, rising from his seat, his voice thick with irritation. Silence fell. He glowered at Arya through his thick beard. “Now, child, you will tell me what happened. Tell it all, and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king.”  Then he looked over at his son. “When she is done, you will have your turn. Until then, hold your tongue.”

Arya began her story. She told it as she had when mother asked, but now she admitted why the guards had dragged her back to her father. After the butcher’s boy had been stabbed Arya had taken the prince’s sword and thrown it into the middle of the Trident, Renly Baratheon began to laugh. 

The king bristled. “Ser Barristan, escort my brother from the hall before he chokes. “

Lord Renly stifled his laughter. “My brother is too kind. I can find the door myself.” He bowed to Joffrey. “Perchance later you’ll tell me how a girl of three-and-ten the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you and throw your sword in the river.” 

As the door swung shut behind him, Sansa heard him say, “Lion’s Tooth,” and guffaw once more.

Prince Joffrey was pale as he began his very different version of events. When his son was done talking, the king rose heavily from his seat, looking like a man who wanted to be anywhere but here.

“What in all the seven hells am I supposed to make of this? He says one thing, she says another.”

“They were not the only ones present,”  Ned said. “Desmond, come here. Tell us what happened.” The guardsman stepped forward to face the king.

“Lady Stark speaks truthfully. Prince Joffrey came upon Lady Arya and the butcher’s boy near the river. They were pretending to sword fight with sticks. The prince asked the boy to fight with him instead, and drew his sword. When the boy tried to refuse, the prince insisted. He cut through the stick he held and ran him through. I had been holding Lady Arya back, but she broke free and ran to her friend. She pulled the sword out of him and threw it into the river. That was when I caught her again and brought her to Lady Catelyn.”

“Of course he would say that! He is one of Lord Stark’s household guards, why would he disagree with his lord’s daughter!”

“Seven hells,” the king swore. “Cersei, look at her. She’s a child. What would you have me do, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight. It’s over. No lasting harm was done.” 

The queen was furious. “Joff has been ashamed in front of his men!”

Robert Baratheon looked at his eldest son. “So he was. Perhaps it will teach him a lesson. Ned, see that your daughter is disciplined. I will do the same with my son.”

“Gladly, Your Grace,” her father said. “Catelyn, take the girls back to the wheelhouse and see that Arya remains there.”

Arya was still furious, but she followed their mother. As they crossed the camp, Sansa turned to her mother. “Mother, I don’t understand. What will become of the prince?

“Likely nothing, Sansa.” Catelyn did not look back as she strode toward the wheelhouse.

“But Desmond agreed that he killed the butcher’s boy?”

“Mycah. His name was Mycah.” Arya said, voice subdued.

“It does not matter, Sansa. He is the crown prince. His father may have him assist with the horses or ride in the wheelhouse, but little more.”

“I don’t like it.” Arya said, tears threatening again.

“Mother, all the songs, the stories, they said nothing about princes hurting children. How could this happen?”

“Oh, Sansa.” Catelyn opened the door to the wheelhouse, urging Arya in before turning to look at her. “The songs of the Prince of Dragonflies do not tell of the Baratheon Rebellion, yet still it occured.”

 


	7. First Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery and Willa meet Sansa and Arya.

08/26/302

“She’s cute!” Margaery whispered, as the Starks exited their wheelhouse. 

Willas looked down his nose at her. “She’s meant to marry me, not you, sweet sister.”

“Perhaps she would prefer a woman’s touch, brother dear.” His sister looked down at her gown, adjusting her rose belt ever so slightly. She was dressed for Prince Joffrey today, but he knew that she would be just as happy with Lady Sansa’s attentions.

“Do try not to ruin her for the rest of us.” Margaery smirked up at him. He had yet to meet anyone who would refuse Margaery after visiting her bed once, married or not, but his sister rarely entertained a relationship for long. If that was because she must marry, or because she tired of her partners, he did not know.

“Take heart, Willas. Leonette still loves Garlan, does she not?”

“Quiet, both of you,” their grandmother scolded. “Starks tend to be sheltered, do not scare her off before even meeting her.”

Lord Stark assisted his wife out of the wheelhouse. He was a short man, with a long face and brown hair, his bread was greying despite his relative youth. Once his family was clustered together with their household he lead them to meet the Tyrells. “Well met, Lord Mace.”

“Ah, Lord Eddard! This must be your lady wife?”

“Yes, this is Lady Catelyn, and my daughters, Arya and Sansa.”

Willas could hear his father introducing them, but he had caught Lady Sansa’s eye. Margaery was correct, she was lovely. She was younger than he would like, but it was the innocence in her eyes that concerned him more than her age. Her thick red hair was long and wavy, pulled back into two braids and loose around her shoulders. Almost as tall as her mother, she shared the Tully’s high cheekbones and vivid blue eyes.

“Lady Sansa,” he said, when she did not seem to be ready to speak, “it is good to meet you. How was your journey?”

“It was pleasant, Lord Willas. I had never before been south of the Neck. The warmth of the south surprised me.” Her dress was a pale lilac to compliment her eyes, golden vines embroidered across the bodice. She had buried her hands in the folds of the skirt, face betraying her nerves despite her smile.

“I do hope you did not mind the heat? Highgarden is even warmer than Kings Landing.”

“Not that much warmer, not like Dorne, certainly,” Margaery interjected, smiling. “I am Margaery, Willas’ sister. Tell me, Lady Sansa, do you like hawking?”

“Oh. I have never been hawking. What does it entail?”

“Is it anything like a hunt?” Arya asked. 

“A bit, yes. If you like riding you will like it,” Margaery assured her.

“I’d love to go!” 

“Would you be joining us, Lord Willas?” Lady Sansa asked.

“Willas, please, and I would be glad to join you. They are my hawks that my sister intends to use.” Willas nodded to the creature behind her skirts. “Forgive me, Lady Sansa, is that a wolf?”

She turned to look down. For a moment her smile brightened at the sight of the grey bitch at her feet, and when she looked back up she was not quite so nervous. “Her name is Lady. She is a direwolf.”

“Is she? Might I pet her?”

“Yes, of course! Lady would never hurt anyone.” Sansa gently patted her skirts, drawing the wolf forward.

Braced on his good leg, Willas knelt to greet the wolf. She was a beautiful light grey with big, expressive eyes. When he held out his hand she sniffed at him, and wagged her tail as a dog might. He rubbed his hand over her head and down her back. “How old is she?”

“About five months, almost six.”

“She is almost the size of my larger hounds. Will she be joining us at Highgarden?”

“If your lord father does not mind. She is very well behaved.” Willas knew his father would have no objection. His bannermen would flock to see the pup, and the animals of Highgarden were Willas’ domain.

“What of that one?” Margaery asked, eyeing the wolf sitting closer to the carriage. “Is that one yours, Lady Arya?”

“It’s just Arya. And she’s mine, her name is Nymeria.” The girl seemed less solemn with one hand in the wolf’s fur, and he had to wonder if they had matched her deeper dress to the pelt of her direwolf on purpose.

“Might I touch her?” Margaery asked, reaching one hand out to the larger wolf.

“She won’t bite. Come here, Nymeria.” The wolf obediently padded up and let Margaery pet her coat, although she seemed less impressed by it than Lady had been.

“Beautiful,” Willas said, taking his hand from the she-wolf’s pelt, “perhaps in a few years she may take a liking to one of my hounds.”

“Wolf puppies would be adorable!” Sansa said, already enamored with the idea. 

Margaery had seen Willas’ plight. She stepped back from Nymeria and bent to wrap her arm through his. Between her and his cane he pushed himself upright again, giving Lady one last pet. Sansa was polite enough not to stare, but Arya watched him with sharp eyes. Her sister seemed to notice, for she offered, “Lord Willas, should we go inside? Would you like to sit down? We would not want you to be in pain for our sake.”

“Thank you, Lady Sansa. I am perfectly fine, it is only when I put too much pressure on my leg that it gives out, and the brace helps.” Most ladies flinched away from mentioning his injuries, and although he suspected it was simply Sansa’s lack of court manners it was nice to simply be asked straight out rather than have his wishes dismissed for her opinion.

“Sansa, Arya,” Lady Catelyn’s voice was soft as she approached, “the servants are going to show us to our rooms.”

“Yes, mother. My apologies, Lord Willas.” Sansa was blushing again.

“Willas, please. I understand we will all dine at the king’s table tonight. I look forward to seeing you there.”

“After settling into your rooms, perhaps you can join us in the gardens?” Margaery asked. “We were going to have tea, you would all be more than welcome.”

“We would be honored, Lady Margaery.” Lady Catelyn said. Her daughters trailed at her heels as she lead them away. Lady Sansa did not look back, but Arya did, staring until they rounded a group of horses and she could not see them.

Margaery tucked an arm through Willas as they walked away. “She seemed nice enough. And her hair is beautiful, even for a Tully daughter.”

“Rowans and Lollistons and now Tullys, it seems you like redheads.” Willas mused. 

His sister ignored him. “I think I will invite her to sit with my ladies and I tomorrow after hawking. Megga and Alla have their kissing games, after all. I could wear that blue dress with the revealing back.”

“You will have to be more specific.” It was not a lie, Margaery had half a dozen blue dresses, and all were tailored to attract the prince’s attentions.

“How rude. Perhaps you should wear that yellow tunic you so loved. Just be sure that you are careful with your leg, you don’t want to miss out on our hawking trip tomorrow. I intend to take your best hawk.”

Willas had to laugh at the jibe to his former self’s fashion sense. That tunic had been hideous, and it had taken him six months to realize it. “And my best hounds.”

“Perhaps the direwolves will be of use to us.”

“They are six months old, Margaery! Imagine how large they will be when they are adults, almost as large as a man, I would think. Perhaps larger!”

“Only you would see a direwolf and wonder what her pups would look like, Willas. She’s hardly more than a pup herself?”

“...the wolf? Or Lady Sansa?”

“Well,” Margaery’s laugh sounded like a bell, “both. All the better reason for me to entertain the girl first. She was nervous, but well mannered. She did not even look at your brace except when you stood up.”

Willas was used to the staring by now, but most people only realized they were doing so and corrected themselves after their first meeting. “Her sister seemed to have not been trained for court at all.”

“If that is the girl that father fears will marry the prince then he should worry no more,” Margaery agreed. The bitterness in her voice lingered for a moment. “Well, unless the king insists, I suppose. For the sake of Lady Lyanna.”

“Lord Renly said that you look like her, but if the Stark girl does, then you do not.”

Margaery scoffed. “Lord Renly is a Baratheon, Willas. Dark skin, dark eyes, a sweet smile, it’s all the same to him.”

“I doubt the king feels the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margaery/Sansa? Lol.


	8. King’s Feast

“Mother, will this suit for tonight?”

Sansa held up the dress, but her mother was already shaking her head. “No, not that one. In Highgarden it will suit you, but here in Kings Landing gold belongs to the Lannisters. Where is the light green dress with white embroidery?”

“Here, but the neckline is very low for dinner with the king?” The neckline was very low for anything, Sansa thought, but Lady Margaery’s had been twice again lower.

“Put that on. Do you have a shawl?” 

“Yes, but it will not cover my neckline.” Lady Leona produced the shawl, Jeyne already lacing her dress up.  

Her mother took it from her and shook it out. “The queen’s ladies wear it around their waist, here, drape it over your arms. You want to look as they do.”

Arya sat on Sansa’s bed, ignoring the rush of women around her, as sullen as she had been since Darry, when Father forbid her from playing with anyone their parents had not approved and confined her to the wheelhouse for a week. The week had turned into three days, which was how long Prince Joffrey’s punishment lasted, but Arya had not been any happier. While she had gone back to riding, she had remained close to Mother and the wheelhouse. 

As Jeyne and Lady Leona hurried to dress Sansa properly, Arya sat on the edge of the bed and stared blankly. Sansa suddenly felt sorry for her. While Sansa was being taught about politics and fussed over, Arya had been left to herself lately. Mother had even started talking about arranging for a few girls Arya’s age to join them at Winterfell when they returned home. Sansa did not know why her parents had brought Arya south when her sister was so against it, but clearly they had decided better of it after their arrival.

“Arya? Do you need help getting ready?” Sansa asked. Meera and Lady Margaery got along better with her sister than she did, and she did not even know why. How was she to peacefully rule Highgarden if she could not even resolve difficulties with her own sister?

“I don’t know what to wear.” Arya answered, not even bothering to argue the point. It was almost unnerving.

Sansa thought quickly. Most of Arya’s dresses she had had a hand in making, so she knew her wardrobe well enough. While Sansa was dressing to please the Tyrells, Arya had no need to, but she should not wear Lannister colors so as not to offend the Tyrells. “Perhaps the dark blue dress?”

“No, not that one,” Catelyn eyed Arya carefully, “no blue, not while we are in Kings Landing. Not where the king can see you. Anything else, just not that.”

Arya stared at her, surprised. Sansa did not know what to say either. Mother had personally picked out the color and sewn the dress, she did not understand the problem. “I- I am sorry.”

Catelyn lost her sternness at that. “Here, Leona, take the girls and go fetch Arya proper clothes. The grey gown with a white bodice, perhaps. That will do for dinner. I wish to speak to my daughters.”

Once the ladies had filed from the room, her mother released Sansa’s dressy and went to sit on the bed next to Arya. “We had not told you because we thought you you would be against it, Arya, but it is time to tell you now. What I say cannot leave this room.”

Arya nodded, while Sansa said, “Yes, mother.”

“King Robert offered to betroth a Stark girl to Prince Joffrey when he came to Winterfell. His plan had been to ask for Sansa, but with her taken he would have taken you for the betrothal, Arya. Your father wanted to wait a few years before finalizing, but that is why we brought you to Kings Landing. When the prince killed the butcher’s boy your father decided he did not want to make such a match. Once Sansa is married you will return to Winterfell with me. We will invite Lyanna Mormont and Eddara Tallhart and Dynelle Flint to attend you and in a few years you may choose your husband from among our bannermen. That is your father’s wish.”

Sansa could not breathe for a moment. She was almost betrothed to the crown prince? She could have been queen. Certainly the prince would not have treated her like he treated Arya. Arya was wild and inappropriate, while Sansa knew how to remain silent. Sansa would not have been pretending to sword fight the butcher’s boy like Arya was, and so the prince would not have been angry with her. It took a moment for her to push the thoughts away. Whatever might have been, it could not be now. She was promised to Willas Tyrell, and Prince Joffrey already disliked her for being Arya’s sister.

“Good,” Arya said, quieter than Sansa had ever heard her, “I don’t want to marry him and I don’t want to stay here. I just want to go home.”

~oOo~

Winterfell had feasts occasionally, but nothing like this one.

They had been seated at the high table, Arya tucked between her mother and herself, Mother next to Queen Cersei and father on the king’s other side. While Lady Margaery and her brother Ser Loras spoke with Prince Joffrey on the other side of the table, Lord Willas and Lady Alerie were placed next to Sansa.  

“Sansa, have you heard of Ser Loras’ first tourney?” Lady Margaery asked, laughing from something her brother had said. “He was four, and playing with Garlan. He fell off his own horse trying to hold the lance!”

“It went better than your first fox hunt without mother,” Ser Loras replied.

“My brother won his first actual joust,” Willas said. “He got better with the lance as he gained a bit of weight.”

Sansa glanced over to Willas, concerned he would be upset his brother’s tourney ended far better than his had, but he was laughing along with Lady Margaery.

“He did,” Margaery agreed. Sansa knew that Ser Loras had crowned his sister at his first tourney. “Have you heard much of Highgarden, Sansa?”

“Only what can be read in books. Is there truly a rose maze surrounding the castle?”

“Yes,” Margaery said, “And rose gardens too. With roses of all colors, peach and white and pink.” She smiled sweetly at Sansa. “Even those the color of your hair. I will have to gift you some.”

Sansa could hardly picture such a maze. “Thank you, Lady Margaery.”

“Please, just Margaery. You are to be my sister!”

“Tell me, Lady Sansa,” Willas said, “do you have hounds at Winterfell?”

“My father has hunting dogs, but nothing so fine as the dogs I have seen from Highgarden. Will they be joining us tomorrow?”

“I gifted my sister one of my finest hounds for her name day three years ago, he will be joining us. There are a few others we could take as well.”

“Then I look forward to meeting him. Do you mind if we bring Lady?”

“Not so long as she does not mind the hounds. Do you have a suitable horse, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa hesitated. She typically rode one of the tamer garrons, but the horse seemed pitiful next to the horse she had seen pulling Lady Olenna’s carriage. “My father has a number of suitable horses.”

“Of course, I only meant that, if it pleases you, I have a horse that might suit. A palfrey of five years, born and bred at Highgarden, well trained for hawking and long journeys. I thought you might like her because her coat is the same color as your hair, Lady Sansa.” 

It took Sansa a moment to process that Lord Willas had found out her hair color, chosen a horse from his stables, and brought her all the way to Kings Landing. All for a girl he had never met. She could feel her face turning pink. “Thank you, Lord Wilas. I look forward to meeting her!”

“Is she one of the horses you bred?” Mother had been speaking with the queen, but now she turned to address Lord Willas.

“The mare is from the white stallion my brother rides when not in tourneys, my mother rides one of her sisters,” Willas said.

“You are most generous. Even in the North we have heard of Highgarden’s horses.”

“Are you joining us, Lady Catelyn?” Margaery asked.

While her mother and Lady Margaery spoke, Sansa returned to her conversation with Willas. He had a deep, calm voice, and was happy to explain anything that confused her about Highgarden. Sansa listened eagerly, every bit of information she gained about her new home she filed away. Winterfell had not been so interesting. There were no great gardens, no fox hunts, no tourneys, just a castle and the cold of the North.

All the while the courses came and went. A thick soup of duck and rosemary, salads of sweetgrass and plums, and trout fresh from the river. Lord Willas took a few mouthfuls from each, but did not truely indulge, and Sansa mimicked his habits. She was grateful she did, for more and more food was set before her. When the final course came she found warm lemon cakes among them, and took two for herself.

“You touched nothing else save the lemon cakes, Lady Sansa. Do you not like the apple cinnamon cakes?” Willas was eating one himself, and Sansa suddenly worried that not eating a bit of everything was rude.

“No, I am certain they are delicious, I only prefer lemon cakes. Sometimes we could not get them in Winterfell.”

Across the table, Lady Margaery and the prince stood to dance. Willas noticed her gaze shift to the floor, where even his own lady mother had found a partner. Ser Loras was still speaking with one of Margaery’s cousins, but had she been anywhere else Sansa would have wanted to dance too. Instead she stayed at Willas’ side. “We have lemons aplenty at Highgarden, you could have them every day if you like. Would you like to dance, Lady Sansa?”

“I would! That is… if you do not?”

Willas laughed. His was deeper than Margaery’s, but clear and light, like hers. “Come, Lady Sansa. I will dance with you.” He set aside his cane, and took her hand. Sansa’s worries about his leg quickly faded as they joined with movement of the dance floor. He wore a deep green doublet patterned with gold, and for a moment Sansa regretted not wearing pink. They would look so lovely together. 

They danced twice, and then Ser Loras and Lady Margaery appeared, and insisted they switch partners. Sansa relinquished Willas to his sister, and danced with the Knight of Flowers for a turn. Then Lord Mace, and then her own father, and Prince Tommen and Rickard Tyrell and Lyonel Tyrell and Lord Baelish, and then Lady Margaery herself. After her dance with Margaery was over, she was swept along the side of the floor to where Lord Willas stood with Alla on his arm, talking to Ser Daven Lannister. 

“Dear brother, you lost your little wolf,” Margaery laughed, and Alla released Lord Willas’ arm so Lady Margaery could attach Sansa to him.

“Ah, Lady Sansa, there you are. I apologize, I had not realized how long I was gone.”

Sansa was flushed from dancing, smiling brightly, “oh, that is all right. I am sorry, Lord Willas.”

“I am only glad you find dancing to your liking. Would you like a drink?”

She agreed, and he led her back to their seats at the high table and found her a cool, sweet wine tasting of peaches. While she drank he sat next to her and told her of his sister’s first dance at a feast, and how she had nearly made both of them fall on the floor, although he suspect she would tell it different. Sansa looked out to Lady Margaery in her pale gold gown which revealed far more skin than Sansa would ever dare, dancing and laughing with Prince Joffrey, and had to agree.

By the time her mother came to fetch her Sansa had become entranced with his tales of Oldtown and the Hightower, and hardly wanted to leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise to answer everyone’s reviews when I get home! I love them, thanks guys!


	9. Hawking

8/27/302

Willas had known he had overdone it at the feast, but he had not known quite how much.

He woke to his leg burning. When he moved the blankets he found that the skin around his knee was red and swollen, and when he pressed his hand to the skin he found it hot and painful to the touch. Moving it was almost impossible. Having lived this way for over half his life, he knew the feeling, and so instead of fighting it he picked up the little silver bell at the side of the bed and rung it

A moment later, his squire Luthor opened the door to his room. “Yes, Lord Willas?”

“Bring me a warm bath without oils.” Willas looked to the clock. Three hours from now he was expected at the stables, and while he could skip breakfast without question it would be best to go hawking with Margaery to avoid suspicion from the royal family or concern from Sansa.

Luthor had done this before. Willas could not properly train squires, but Loras and Garlan’s squires took turns seeing to him. When this first began, Willas had found that assisting the knight’s injured brothers was a disliked chore, but eventually he had taken pages, the best of who then became his brother’s squires. That had given them more reason to care about Willas’ concerns. When it was ready Lyonel assisted him into the water, and Luthor brought him a chew of willow bark with his breakfast. While he was not up to eating much, Willas took the willow bark gratefully. It would at least take the edge off the pain.

As the water started to cool Lyonel helped him out. He dressed in soft beige breeches and a green tunic, embroidered with gold. Although he was forced to secure his brace looser than usual, he set it to be as rigid as possible to hold his knee still. The Red Keep did not have a lift as Highgarden did, so he was forced to take the stairs. They slowed him more than he would like to admit, but he eventually made it outside.

He arrived in the courtyard to find that Lady Catelyn was speaking with Aunt Janna while their horses were saddled. Nearby, Margaery was seated next to Joffrey, laughing at something the prince had said, while Princess Myrcella and Sansa were entertained by her ladies. Yesterday Lady Sansa had worn her hair high on the top of her head, one long twist coming down each shoulder, but today she wore it as Margaery did, high in the front and in loose curls down the back. Her style of dress had changed as well, from the wrap style with a metal belt of the Westerlands to the v-neck style favored by the Riverlands. She had secured the front of the dress with dragonfly clips to match her necklace. Her style was changing from mimicking the queen to mimicking Margaery, and Willas was rather impressed she had done so this quickly.

"Good morning Princess Myrcella, Lady Sansa." He tried to avoid looking as though he was relying on his cane as much as he had to, but the princess’ eyes flickered to his brace nonetheless. He was not sure if that was because he was limping, or because he was wearing a brace.

The princess smiled brightly. "Lord Willas, how good to see you. Are you joining us today?"

"Yes, we will be using my hawks, and I am eager to see how they do so far from home." Hawks had one person they would fly for, and while they might allow themselves to be handled by other, familiar people, they tended to dislike even that. When a man died, his hawks were released.

"Mother dislikes hawking, so I have never gone before. I do hope they do well." She looked toward the squires as they finished with the horses. "Lady Sansa said that you gifted her the strawberry roan, she's a lovely horse."

"Thank you, I bred her myself. Her sire is one of my best horses."

"Princess Myrcella's horse is the palomino gelding. Do you like her, Willas?" Elinor asked, smirking.

The horse was absolutely beautiful, Willas would admit, but his conformation was poor. Even from here Willas could see he was narrow-chested, and it looked as though he stood too close in his hind legs as well. He was not a poor riding horse, but none one he would gave gifted to his family, much less the royal family. Willas knew that Elinor could see it too, but he said none of that. "He is beautiful."

The princess flushed prettily. "Thank you."

"Did you find the red bay paint in the Riverlands, Lady Sansa?" The horse was tied next to her own, already saddled. Paints were more common in the Riverlands than the Reach, but the brightness of it’s coat suggested bloodlines further south.

"My mother purchased him there, yes." Sansa said. While the paint appeared to be of no particular breeding it would do well as a riding horse. The courser was Northern, too heavy to be ridden in deep snow, but with a heavier coat than most southern horses.

“Is your sister not to join us?” He had not seen Arya go more than arm's length from her mother, yet she was nowhere to be seen.

Sansa’s smile slipped. “My sister is in a dancing lesson.”

"Are we ready, then?" Margaery was on Joffrey's arm, the blue of her dress crafted to compliment his golden doublet.

"The horses will be saddled by now," Joffrey assured her. His eyes met Willas'. "Lord Willas, I did not know you were joining us." The prince was handsome, tall and blond, he took after his mother. His smile did not suit his look. "Are you certain you will be able to keep up?"

"You should not concern yourself with me, my prince." Willas returned. He smiled as though he did not hear the insult. "My stallion is one of the best palfreys bred in Highgarden, he will have no trouble."

Joffrey laughed but seemed satisfied with Willas’ lack of understanding. He allowed Margaery to lead him away so he could assist her onto her horse. Willas joined Sansa and her family, while the princess followed in her brother's wake. It was odd that she had no male companion for this outing, but he half suspected that King Robert meant to see her wed to Robert Arryn once enough time had passed since his father's death.

Lady Catelyn mounted easily albeit from a block, while Sansa fumbled with the reins nervously. "Would you like assistance, Lady Sansa?"

"Yes, thank you, Lord Willas." Alyn dropped the reins to Willas' stallion and hurried to her side to assist her. The mare was tall, but well trained, and waited patiently while Sansa was settled in the saddle.

Sansa had said nothing about his squire helping her, but the prince had watched as well. "Ser Boros can help you if you need it, Lady Sansa.”

The Stark girl had wide blue eyes and an air of innocence about her, but it seemed even she understood this insult. "Thank you, Prince Joffrey. Alyn was most helpful."

Lady Catelyn nudged her horse closer to her daughter. Willas caught her eye as she did so, and found that she had realized the same thing as he: the prince was unstable. No normal lord, crown prince or no, would insult an heir to one of the Great Houses with so little regard for themselves. Even among the Targaryens it was nigh unheard of.

Alyn led his stallion to the block the wrong way. Willas could not use his injured left leg to mount, but he did not often carry a sword either, so to resolve the problem he had trained his personal horses to be mounted from either side. He handed his cane off to Alyn on the other side of the horse and gripped the front of the saddle, using his arms to pull himself on. The stallion waited patiently while he loosened the brace to set his foot properly in the stirrup, then tightened it again once he was on properly.

Once his cane was properly in place and he had secured the whip to his hand, he guided his horse toward the Starks. Lady Catelyn was still between the royals and her daughters, but they had been joined by most of Margaery's entourage. Two of his falconers had joined them from the side of the stable, and Margaery had quickly caught one to show off his bird to the prince. The other was younger, and under the hawk's weight he strained to keep his arm upright. He brought the bird straight to Willas, who took him before the hawk could become annoyed.

The hawking, at least, was uneventful. His birds were well trained, and successful in their hunts more often than not. Margaery kept the attention of the prince with practiced ease, flirting with little subtlety and listening to anything he said with rapt attention. Joffrey hardly seemed to notice the rest of them existed.

Willas stayed beside Lady Catelyn, answering Sansa's questions about his hawk and showing her how to reward it for success. Her mother had been more animated than yesterday, but Willas was surprised that she had not brought Arya along to ride with the prince. Princess Myrcella rode alongside Lady Sansa and Megga in the thick of the Tyrells, paying no more attention to her brother than the Starks.

When Janna reigned up to speak to Elinor, Lady Catelyn turned to him. "Forgive me, Lord Willas, I have been ignoring you.”

“Think nothing of it. In truth, I have been paying attention to the bird and been poor company myself. I understand your son in Winterfell has woken, and I am glad to hear he is doing better.”

“Thank you. The maesters say that Bran will live. Do you catch the birds, Lord Willas, or breed them?" Catelyn asked.

"Most of the Reach catches their birds and trains them. Lady Sansa mentioned that hawking is rarer in the North?" By six-and-ten Margaery was hawking with only her ladies, and Sansa would have to learn quickly if she was to be his future wife. He meant to encourage the outings as much as he could, even if the only thing he could think of now was his leg.

"It is, but it is more common in the Riverlands. My sister and I loved hawking as girls. Lords there tend to breed their hawks, hoping to create tamer birds."

"It can be quite exciting on good days. I fear I have never met Lady Lysa." Willas agreed. Nor had his father spoken well of her. He had thought her frightened, young, and unsuitable for Lady Arryn. "My father did, during his last trip to Kings Landing, but I understand that upon her husband's death she returned to the Vale."

Lady Catelyn frowned ever so slightly. "Yes, Lysa was ever a bit flighty. I believe she wanted to insure her son would be fostered in the Vale rather than at Casterly Rock as he is so young."

That brought Willas’ thoughts to a crashing halt. "Casterly Rock, my lady? I had thought Lord Arryn's son was to foster on Dragonstone, with Lord Stannis?"

She looked at him properly then, reigning up her horse slightly, attention gone from the hawk, "King Robert told my husband that he had asked Lord Tywin to foster the boy at the Rock?"

"Lord Renly told my brother that the boy was meant to foster on Dragonstone?"

For a moment, they stared at each other. Renly would not lie to Loras, and Loras would not lie to them. Nor did he think that Renly lacked knowledge of the happenings of Kings Landing. Yet why would the king be incorrect about such a thing?

"...how odd," Lady Catelyn said, voice quiet, "perhaps he had not decided yet. I will ask Lysa myself when I see her. After Sansa’s marriage I had thought to visit the Vale to see my sister again."

"Lord Willas?" Sansa's roan trotted to the other side of his stallion. One of her hands was half-grasping the front of her saddle. "Lady Margaery mentioned that the galley Red Rose in the harbor belongs to House Tyrell, and that we will be traveling on it. What is it like?"

Willas was grateful for the change in topic. Lady Catelyn looked as confused as he, and why would she lie about such a thing even if she was not? "Well, she's a coastal ship, but she does have a large row crew. She looks a bit small from afar, but that is due to her having two levels of oars rather than having them spread out. The Red Rose is the largest galley House Tyrell has, although she's by no means the Honor of Oldtown.”

Sansa stared at him for a moment. "Row crew?"

"We have few ships in the North," Lady Catelyn intervened when she saw both of them were confused, "only White Harbor has them, and Sansa has never been on one."

"My pardon, Lady Sansa. The Red Rose has sails, but she also has oars. We can use them when the winds are not with us, and they provide her with greater maneuverability. She is suited primarily for travel and trade, and you will lack for nothing while on her. My mother arranged your family's rooms herself before we left Highgarden, and they have been kept in excellent condition." Willas explained. He touched his horse with the whip to guide him closer to the roan so he could speak more easily.

"Is the open water frightening?"

Willas could still remember his first time aboard a ship. He had been nervous, but too proud to show it. The Redwyne twins had had none of his concerns, and soon quelled his own. It was a shame that Margaery would not be accompanying them. "During most of the trip you will be able to see the coast. The Red Rose would sooner maneuver between islands than risk the ocean even on a moderate day."

"Do you feel the rocking of the boat while on it? You can see it moving in the harbor.” Sansa looked down to arrange her skirts as she asked, but from what Willas could see of her saddle she would do better to shorten her stirrups.

"You notice it when you first get on board, and likely for the first day. Afterwards one gets used to it very quickly." He looked back to locate Megga among his cousins. “Megga has been on several, and she will be with you on the way back to Highgarden. You might ask her if she was ever seasick? I was not, so I do not know what might help.”

Sansa looked forward instead, to Margaery and the prince. “Will Lady Margaery not be with us?”

“My grandmother, Loras, and Margaery intend to remain in Kings Landing for a time. My sister has never been in the capitol before and finds it fascinating, so she has decided to stay with my grandmother while she visits old friends.”

“How lovely! I do hope they enjoy their time here!”

Lady Catelyn shared none of her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Yes, may their stay be enjoyable.”


	10. The Hand's Tourney

9/22/302

Sansa rode to the Hand’s tourney with the Tyrells and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine that they were transparent. The common folk had arrived in thousands, and the city was alive with knights in shining armor, their chargers in shining silver and gold, and banners of a multitude of Houses snapping in the wind.

It was better than the songs. Lord Willas led them to seats among the high lords and ladies, and Sansa could see her mother and Arya across the way. Sansa was dressed beautifully, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, which was pulled back and away from her face. Even Lord Willas had complimented her this morning, on her hair and the dragonfly clasps of her dress.

The Kingsguard took the field, and Ser Gregor Clegane, and Yohn Royce, and Jason Mallister, and then a hundred other men. She knew few of them by sight, but many by name when Lord Willas pointed them out. Other riders Sansa did not know, hedge knights, unsung freeriders, and new squires. Most younger sons of high lords or heirs of lesser houses. Then there were those that Sansa knew by heart. Lord Renly, who sometimes broke his fast with the Tyrells, Ser Loras who wore his sister’s favor, and Jory, Alyn, and Harwin for Winterfell.

She could see the king as well, along with Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey, and Lady Margaery with him. Her father and mother’s seat were near his, in a place of honor for the Hand of the King. Should ever a joust end without a clear winner he would decide who had won. Sansa suddenly wanted to sit there beside him, as Lady Margaery was, rather than in the stands. She felt badly of it instantly, for Lord Willas and his family had been nothing but polite, but she wanted a knight who could wear her favor and joust in her honor.

Still, she was eager to see the jousting. All day it went on, and Sansa watched in rapt attention. A dozen times Jeyne and Sansa cried out as riders crashed together, lances exploding into splinters. Jeyne covered her eyes when a knight fell, but Sansa held herself upright. A lady knew how to behave at tournaments. Even so, she could not help but tuck her arm into Lord Willas’ when, during Ser Gregor’s second joust, his lance rode up and struck a young knight with such force it drove through his throat, killing him. Even Lady Olenna seemed to hold her breath as someone rushed onto the field to check on the knight.

When he was pronounced dead, Jeyne wept so hysterically that at last Megga Tyrell took her off to regain her composure, but Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching silently. She had never seen a man die before. It would be different if it were Jory or Ser Loras, she thought, but the young knight from the Vale of Arryn was a stranger to her. His name was forgotten as soon as Lord Willas said it, but no sooner had she thought that than she realized that the world would forget his name too. No songs would be sung for him.

That was sad.

After they carried off the body dirt was shoveled over the blood he had left, and the jousts went on. Lord Renly fell to the Hound, so violently that when he landed there was an audible crack. The crowd gasped, but it was only his helm that was damaged. He climbed to his feet to wild cheers from the crowd, and joined his brother’s family.

Ser Loras still remained. He wore armor so intricately fashioned it looked like a bouquet of thousands of roses, and his white stallion was draped in a blanket of red and white roses. After each victory, he removed his helm and rose round the fence, before plucking a single white rose from his blanket and tossed it to a fair maiden in the crowd. After his last joust, he stopped in front of her, and presented her with a rose of red.

“Dear sister,” he said, “no victory is half so beautiful as you.”

Sansa took the flower timidly, for she could find no words to answer him. He looked like a knight out of a song. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, his eyes like liquid gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it. By the time she thought to look to Lord Willas, he was already engaged in conversation with his aunt, and seemed to bear his brother no ill will.

When he noticed her gaze, he laughed. “Loras is ever gallant. We had told you that he crowned Margaery when he won his first tourney, didn’t we?

Eventually, as dusk fell, only four riders were left. Ser Gregor and the Hound, Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras. The king decided that the last matches would be fought in the morning, as the crowd was tired. Sansa stayed close to Lord Willas as the court moved along the riverside to the feast. Her mother was given a place of high honor, to the left of the raised dais where the king himself sat, and the Tyrells joined them there, Sansa sitting next to Lord Willas. Margaery stayed with Joffrey, who had not fought in the lists, as it was hosted by the king and he thought it would be ill done to win the prize.

Servants kept them well-supplied with wine, but Sansa hardly touched it. She was drunk on the beauty she had dreamed of all her life and thought to never know. Singers sat before the king, filling the night with music. There was a fool and a juggler, and more food than Sansa could ever eat. As the night went on, her gaze was drawn from Joffrey and Margaery. Lord Willas was the soul of courtesy. They talked all night, he showered her with compliments, made her laugh, and explained the japes the king’s fool made.

King Robert had grown louder with each course, and now he began to shout in a voice that drowned out all else. “No, you do not tell me what to do, woman,” he screamed at Queen Cersei. “I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!”

Everyone was staring. The queen said nothing, only gathered her skirts around her and stormed off in silence. Ser Jaime moved forward to assist the king, for he was as drunk as a man could be, but the king refused him, sending the knight falling. Lord Renly came forward, smiling, and then Lord Willas laid his hand on her arm.

“It grows late. Do you need an escort back to the castle?” He was not drunk, and his smile was kind.

Sansa did not want to leave, but when she looked back King Robert had stumbled off and half the benches were empty. The beautiful feast was over. “Yes, thank you. I am tired and the way is dark. I should be glad for some protection.”

Lord Willas saw her back to the castle, but Megga remained. It seemed that Megga was to be House Tyrell’s gift to her. The girl was loud, and had a new suitor every week, but she knew all the gossip and Sansa quite liked her. As Megga began to take down her hair Sansa said, “Ser Gregor and the Hound rode well. He is rather frightening, though.”

“I know! His face is horrifying! I heard it was from an accident in his childhood.” Megga said, beginning to brush out Sansa’s curls.

“The Hound? Yes, but I had meant Ser Gregor. He rode well.”

“Ser Loras rode well,” Megga replied, “I have heard tales of him, even in the Reach. He is a Lannister man, you know?”

“I had known the Hound served Prince Joffrey.” Sansa remembered him from the trip south.

“Ser Gregor prefers to remain on his lands.  He is soon to be married a third time, and there are whispers about his first two wives.”

“Whispers? Do you mean that they had no children?”

“I mean that he killed them.”

“And no one had put a stop to it?”

“There is no evidence I have heard of,” Megga answered.

“I am glad I am not to marry a Lannister, then.”

~oOo~

The next morning Sansa joined her family to watch the jousts. Ser Loras and Ser Gregor were first. Loras rode a beautiful grey courser that Sansa had seen Willas ride once, the mare moving with such ease that she had to be one of Highgarden’s horses. Across the field, Ser Gregor was having trouble with his stallion. The horse was screaming and shaking his head, while the knight kicked at the animal.

Ser Loras saluted the king, rode to the far end of the list, and waited while Ser Gregor fought to force his stallion to the line. No sooner was he there than the stallion broke into a gallop, plunging forward. Ser Loras’ mare charged smoothly, and without so much as breaking his lance he sent Ser Gregor to the ground.

Furious, Ser Gregor Clegane disentangled himself and came boiling to his feet. He threw his helm in the dirt, and shouted. “My sword!”

A boy ran it out to him, and the knight turned and killed the horse with a single blow. The crowd’s cheers turned to shrieks as the stallion went to its knees, screaming as it died. Ser Gregor had no sooner killed the horse than he was striding toward Ser Loras, his bloody sword clutched in his fist.

Her father leapt to his feet. “Stop him!” But his words were lost in the roar of the crowd.

Yet Ser Loras was next to the king’s seat, and his sister was screaming as Ser Gregor knocked Luthor aside and grabbed for the reins of the horse. Ser Loras took a blow to the chest, knocking him to the ground, stunned. Elinor had grasped Margaery before she could throw herself into the field, pulling her down. Her father was pushing past people, but he was too far away, would be too late.

And then Prince Joffrey dropped down onto the fields, sword in hand, and caught the blow meant for Ser Loras. Queen Cersei screaming so loudly it could be heard over the crowd. The Kingsguard were two steps behind him. Ser Barristan caught Ser Gregor’s first blow and turned it from the prince. A moment later a sword was plunged through Ser Gregor’s unprotected face. His sword dropped from his hand, his body sagging, and when he fell to the ground the Hound stood behind him, staring down at his brother.

They all sat in stunned silence for a moment, and then the crowd roared. Sansa could not hear over the screaming, but King Robert pointed to the Hound and said something, while the queen hurried to check on Joffrey. He waved her off and went to Margaery, who was crying as he climbed back into his seat.

Ser Gregor was carried off, and then the last joust was called for. Ser Loras had taken a great blow from Ser Gregor, and the Hound had just killed his own brother to save the prince. Even so, neither asked for the match to be stayed. The first two times neither fell, but on the third the Hound fell from his horse, and Ser Loras was named the winner.

Sansa knew that Ser Loras had worn Margaery’s favor during the jousts, and so she thought that he might crown her, or perhaps a lady from the Reach he hoped to marry, but he urged the mare past his sister and family. Her mother went very still as he rode up to them.

Ser Loras held out the crown of red roses to Sansa, and said, “for my brother’s betrothed,  the future Lady of Highgarden.” She could hardly move, but she took the crown from her lap and laid it upon her head.

The crowd’s cheer rose to a crescendo, for the color of the roses matched her hair, but Ser Loras only turned his mare and left the field.


	11. New Ideas

10/05/302

Five days before they were due to leave Kings Landing Lady Olenna sent Alyn to fetch Willas to break his fast with her and his father. 

He arrived not long after her summons to find the room empty of servants, a spread of food set out before them, his father pouring a drink for grandmother. She looked up as the door opened, but waited until the door closed behind him to speak. “Willas, come and sit down.”

“Willas! Come in, come in! Lord Eddard has asked for our presence in the Tower of the Hand this morning. I want you to come along.” Mace set the pitcher down and took another bite of the food.

“He’s here for two months, and now he decides that he needs to talk to us,” Olenna scoffed. Willas had long since learned to stay out of their disagreements. Neither alienating his father nor annoying his grandmother improved his position.

“Now, mother, perhaps this is good news. Lord Eddard has always been rather solitary, inviting us to speak with him is a step forward in our alliance.”

Olenna did not agree. She insured Mace knew this throughout the rest of breakfast and on the walk to the Tower of the Hand. When they reached the base of the stairs of the Tower and Lord Eddard’s guards, she allowed Mace to take her arm and escort her up the stairs. Willas stayed just behind them, missing the lift built in the halls of Highgarden not for the first time. They moved up the stairs slowly, and while Willas could have forced himself to go faster he was grateful for his grandmother’s pace.

At the top of the stairs a Northerner stood guard,and he saw them into Lord Stark’s solar. The King’s Hand stood to greet them, long face solemn. “Lord Mace, Lord Willas, Lady Olenna, thank you for arriving so quickly on such short notice.”

“Of course, Lord Stark! We are glad to speak with you at anytime.” Mace glanced about the room. It was fine, but held few personal effects or decorations. A single Stark banner hung from the wall behind Lord Stark’s desk, everything else within was what remained after Lord Arryn's belongings had been removed.

“I wanted to speak to you about your journey to Highgarden.” Once they were seated, Lord Eddard returned to sit behind his desk. “I understand that you mean to leave in five days time?”

“Yes, we will go along the coast, through the Sea of Dorne, and up the Redwyne Straits into the Sunset Sea. It should be a trip of around a sennight.” Mace agreed merrily. 

“I know that you had only planned to take Sansa and her lady-in-waiting, but I had hoped that you would have room for my lady wife and daughter Arya, Catelyn’s two ladies-in-waiting, and a number of guards when you leave.”

“I had thought they intended to remain in Kings Landing with you?” Lady Olenna asked. Lord Arryn’s wife had remained in Kings Landing for many years, and Lady Catelyn had moved into the rooms she had left easily. The other rooms within the Tower had last been used by Cersei Lannister, but he could not imagine that they had not been cleaned and updated to suit Lord Stark’s daughters.

“That was my plan originally. However, I fear that Kings Landing is not a suitable place for my family at this time. When the king returns I must speak to him about matters concerning Queen Cersei, and I fear the queen will not like what I have to tell him.” Lord Stark paused, then pushed forward, “if you will permit the suggestion, I would not think it is a place for Lady Margaery either.”

Lord Mace frowned, but Lady Olenna leaned forward to study the Hand. “Do you mean to say that my sister may be in danger, Lord Stark?” Willas asked. His eyes met his grandmother’s as he asked the question. If Lord Eddard was sending his wife from the city and must do so quickly, he likely knew about the incest Lord Renly had spoken of. And if he meant to tell the king, the city would soon be in an uproar. Yet both knew that their father would never remove Margaery from the city.

“I am uncertain. I mention this because I feel better with my family out of the city, and it would do my daughter’s new family poorly to not receive the same warning. Perhaps in some month’s time Catelyn will return to Kings Landing, I am certain she would be pleased to accompany Lady Olenna if she wished to return.”

“Thank you, Lord Eddard,” Lord Mace said, “We will take your wife and daughter with us when we leave, the Red Rose and Highgarden have more than enough room for them. And we will take into consideration what you have said.”

~oOo~

Willas did not see House Tyrell’s benefit from leaving his sister in Kings Landing. If King Robert believed Lord Stark, then the city would likely descent into war between the queen’s supporters and the kings. If the king did not believe him, Lord Stark would likely be called a traitor, and Willas would be betrothed to his daughter. By the time Willas gave up on his father considering Margaery’s safety before her possible marriage to a boy who may be a bastard it was nearly noon. 

He left his grandmother to argue and went out to the gardens where he knew Margaery would be. Lady Sansa was seated near her, a singer with a harp entertaining the ladies. When she saw him Margaery stood from her chair and picked up her fine silk skirts to run toward him. “Willas! Willas, a raven came from Garlan! Leonette’s had a girl!” 

“A girl?” He caught her as she rushed up to him. “What did they name her?”

“Maery, isn’t it a beautiful name? I am almost upset that she took it,” Margaery let him go and stepped back to tug him to the bench with her. “I have always prefered named with that start with an ‘S’ though. What about you, Sansa?”

“I like Jylia for a daughter,” Sansa said. If she noticed Margaery’s flirting she did not respond, but when she noticed Willas’ gaze on her she flushed sharply.

“Jylia is a nice name. I have always liked Theo for a boy.” Willas offered, hoping to ease her worry. Sansa Stark’s children would be beautiful, no matter the father.

“Where have you been all morning, Willas?” Margaery asked. She waited for him to sit on the bench before joining him, taking care not to put pressure on his leg.

“Lord Stark asked father to speak with him this morning. Lady Catelyn and Arya will be joining us on the Red Rose.”

“To Highgarden?” Sansa asked, looking back to her mother. 

“I thought we were going home?” Arya protested sharply.

“We thank your family for agreeing to allow us to join you, Lord Willas,” Lady Catelyn said. She looked down at Sansa, “Yes, we will be going to Highgarden. Perhaps in a few months we will return to Kings Landing, or we may return to Winterfell after Sansa is married. Your father has not decided yet.”

Arya did not look pleased, but Sansa smiled brightly. “How wonderful!”

“You will love Highgarden,” Megga was on Sansa’s other side, next to the Northern girl that she had brought with her, and now she grasped Sansa’s arm, “we have the most beautiful horses, Lady Arya. Perhaps you could join us on a fox hunt?”

“There is nothing wrong with Northern horses,” Arya’s voice was sharp, but even, “just because they are not pretty does not mean that they are not as useful as other horses.”

“Arya, do not be rude,” Lady Catelyn said.

“She is correct.” Willas intervened. “Northern horses are bred for the North. They have heavier coats than our horses and tend to be shorter. This helps them better deal with the snow, and because they are good at their purpose they are beautiful. Highgarden’s horses are bred to be swift and strong, and so they look different.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Prince Joffrey came down the stairs in short strides, dressed in the black and gold of House Baratheon. His smile was cruel as he looked down at Willas. “Any fool should be able to determine the value of a horse by looking at it. It should not matter what the horse is meant to do. Not that I expect  _ you _ to understand that.”

“Like your bay, my prince,” Margaery intervened, “he is a handsome horse, and you took him North, did you not?”

“I did. He is an excellent horse.” The prince’s smirk shifted when he looked at Margaery. “Would you do me the honor of joining me today, Lady Margaery? I must visit the Sept of Baelor, but afterward I am happy to show you through the market.”

Margaery tucked herself into Joffrey’s side, smiling up at him. “That would be wonderful. Thank you for coming to find me.”

Arya seethed as Margaery drew the prince from them, her ladies-in-waiting following in her wake, but remained quiet under her mother’s gaze. Most of the Tyrells returned to their conversations as though they had never been interrupted, but Sansa reached over to touch Willas’ arm gently. When he looked down at her she was staring after Margaery and Joffrey. Willas had seen her watch Joffrey before, but that had been admiration. She had wanted to take Margaery’s place on the brave, handsome prince’s arm. She had looked at Loras the same way when he crowned her at the tourney. Now her eyes were hard.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, eyes averted, “that was cruel of him.”

“You should not say such things,” Willas answered, so softly that the singer would cover his voice had she not been sitting beside him, “Joffrey is the crown prince.”

She looked up to meet his eyes, brow furrowed. “But he said such a thing to you, and then Lady Margaery went with him.”

“Yes, Margaery left with him. He was no longer here to speak about me in any manner, and Margaery has his favor,” Willas agreed, voice mild. “Still, you should not say such things here, it matters not what he said or who he insulted. The Red Keep has ears.”

Sansa looked past him, to the hedge the table was braced against. A young boy was clipping the branches there, wholey intent on his work. She adjusted her posture to sit closer to him, casting one last look in the direction Margaery had gone. “How do you know what horses will do well at which things?”

  
  
  
  



End file.
